


wonderful, in a loathsome sort of way

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, His Girl Friday AU, Sorry Not Sorry, a bit of clara/missy in the last chapter if you squint, everything is ridiculous, jack and river are besties, river is oblivious, twelve and missy are besties, twelve is a manipulative jerk in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stands, holding out a hand the Doctor wastes no time in ignoring entirely. “Bruce Baldwin.” River darts her gaze between both of them, the love of her life and the man who has kept the loneliness at bay the past six months. “I’m a friend of River’s.”</p><p>The tense set of the Doctor’s shoulders relaxes somewhat, the lines around his eyes losing their hard edge, and a small, vindictive part of River – the psychopath that never really left her, only slept in some dark corner of her mind, waiting to be awakened – wants him to hurt just as much as she has been. It surges forward with a vengeance and makes her blurt out, “Lover.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. to cover what we can't erase

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is slightly OC heavy but it's just to set things up. After this, Bruce has a very small role in the grand scheme of things:)
> 
> Inspired by the 1940s movie His Girl Friday. Story title and quotes in italics at the beginning of each chapter are also taken from the same film. Chapter title from Hard To Find by The National.

_“There’s a lamp burning in the window for you, honey.”_

_“I jumped out that window a long time ago.”_

 

For the first few years, she lives on Luna in eternal hope. Any second, she would tell herself. He’ll come bounding through the door like an overexcited puppy and everything will be put to rights again. She lives her life and doesn't think to worry. The Doctor is always late. But the years pass without a word from him and hope gradually fades. When she loses it entirely, she feels like a little girl again – lost and abandoned, unloved and alone in the universe.

 

She does what she always does – she squares her shoulders, pushes back the tears and tries to get on with her life. For a while, that means throwing herself into every dangerous situation she can find, desperate to somehow fill the empty space in her chest, that place just between her hearts where love used to be. She’ll take any excuse for violence, to shoot or blow up or just bloody well hit something. For a while, she craves it. She comes home with bloodied knuckles and a bruised, sometimes broken body, dragging herself to her empty bed and curling up there like a wounded child, the tears in her eyes stinging far worse than any injury ever could.

 

And then just as quickly as it had stolen over her, the bitter anger fades and leaves River hollow. It is no longer just the space between her hearts that feels empty. She struggles more than ever to fill it. She leaves Luna and goes to earth, acquiring a job at Oxford and teaching classes there. She occupies her days with lectures and digs, writing papers and books and snarky notations in the margins of her students final essays. She throws herself into renovating her new house, making it into a home rather than just a place to store her things when the TARDIS isn’t available.

 

The TARDIS isn’t really an option anymore.

 

Slowly, she begins again. It isn’t nearly as full or as happy as it might have been with him, but it is a life and one she managed to rebuild without his help. Even when she misses him so much she aches with it, she feels proud of herself for that.

 

She stopped writing in her journal years ago. It sits gathering dust on a bookshelf because she can’t bring herself to even open it and fondly peruse its pages anymore. Time passes in a tedious blur of classes and house renovations. She gets her thrills by going off on archaeological digs and taking the odd hop into the past or future with her vortex manipulator. She stops trying to call him. He never answers. Most days are unremarkable, coming and going without any real reason to remember them.

 

It is just such a day when River decides to take her lunch outside instead of eating at her desk in her office. Grades are being posted in a week and students tend to hover outside her door, pestering her about getting their final grade early. She settles her back against the trunk of a tree on campus, curls her legs up beneath her and proceeds to stare at her cafeteria tray with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

 

Fish fingers.

 

Of course.

 

She prods at one balefully, squinting.

 

“This seat taken?”

 

Her eyes slide from her lunch to the pair of shoes standing next to her, scuffed Oxfords with one of the laces half undone. Slowly, she allows her eyes to travel up a pair of long legs in beige trousers, a broad chest in a slightly frayed but clearly expensive jacket, the lunch tray held in big, inelegant hands and finally to a smiling, ruggedly handsome face with kind blue eyes gazing down at her in quiet amusement.

 

She drops her eyes back to her lunch and says, “I can’t stop you.”

 

She could if she wanted to.

 

He sits, settling his back against the tree trunk as well, letting out a content little sigh as his elbow brushes her arm. “I think you could if you wanted to.”

 

Startled, River lifts her head again and stares.

 

He grins back at her.

 

“Yes,” she admits, sliding her arm just out of reach of his wayward elbow. “I definitely could.”

 

He looks delighted by the admission instead of the appropriate response of terror she usually gets when she says anything remotely threatening in that tone of voice. The voice that used to make the Doctor blush up to his ears and stammer. River shoves away the painful memory and stares at the man’s outstretched hand as he says, “Bruce Baldwin. I teach physics here.”

 

She looks him right in the eye, making her grip firm and strong. “River Song. Archaeology professor.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

She lifts an eyebrow. “Got a problem with archaeology?”

 

He shakes his head hurriedly, biting into one of his fish fingers. “Not that. Your name.” She frowns and he laughs. “It’s pretty. Just sounds made up – like a name a celebrity would use to check into a hotel or something.” He pauses in chewing, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re not a celebrity, are you?”

 

River snorts lightly. “That would depend entirely upon the era and who you’re asking.”

 

“Well that’s not mysterious at all.” He lifts an eyebrow at her and she wants to tell him she used to be more mystery than one man could handle but instead she drops her eyes back to her tray, eyeing her fish fingers dubiously. “Got something against fish fingers?”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re staring at them like you have a personal vendetta.”

 

“We have a… history.”

 

“You have a history with fish fingers?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

He sips his water, watching her intently with those kind blue eyes, his lips twitching. “If you’re trying to scare me away by being weird, it isn’t working. I like weird.”

 

River meets his stare coolly. “If I wanted to scare you away, you’d be gone by now.”

 

“Touché.” He ducks his head, hiding a smile. “So you probably won’t be eating your lunch?”

 

She shakes her head, watching him lift his own to stare at her curls bouncing with the movement. It reminds her too much of someone else and she turns her head from the sight of his apparent fascination, dropping her fish fingers onto his lunch tray. “Bon appetite,” she says, moving to stand.

 

“No, wait.” His hand shoots out to grasp her wrist and she pauses, frozen in place. When was the last time someone touched her – pub brawls and drunken, grief-fueled fucks not included. She can’t even remember. “I wasn’t asking for your lunch. I was -” He lets go of her wrist to scratch the back of his head with boyish timidity, and River stares at him in silence, hearts in her throat and the skin of her wrist still tingling with the unfamiliarity of human contact. “I was actually asking you to dinner. In a fumbling, clumsy, idiotic kind of way.”

 

He squints against the sun above their heads, watching her hopefully as she peers down at him in stunned silence. “A date?”

 

He grins. “I believe that’s what the kids are calling it these days.”

 

She swallows thickly, thinking of smiling hazel eyes, a burning kiss, the soft silk of a bowtie wrapped snugly around her hand like a promise. She thinks of a decade of lonely days and nights, phone calls and secret messages left unanswered. A promise someone else broke first.

 

River curls her hand around her wrist, cradling it to her chest. “OK. Dinner.”

 

-

 

Shoving her key into the lock on her front door, River turns it viciously, grumbling to herself about entitled freshmen, wanting nothing more than to slip into a nice hot bath before crawling into bed. It’s Friday and she has a weekend of sleep ahead of her. Her Saturdays aren’t nearly as exciting as they used to be. Pushing open the door, she tucks her key back into her bag and drops the whole thing in the foyer, shedding her coat and turning to hang it on the rack by the door. The moment she lifts her head, it becomes immediately apparent that she has not come home to an empty house. The lights have been dimmed and soft music floats down the hall from the dining room to reach her ears. Small, lit tea candles litter every available surface.

 

Frowning, River wanders further into the house, shaking raindrops from her curls as she calls out, “Bruce?”

 

It hadn’t taken half an hour into dinner six months ago before she’d told him she was a married woman and while it might not matter any more and he might be dead for all she knew, she wouldn’t ever be able to truly give her hearts to anyone else. Bruce still didn’t leave and unlike some, he’s been there every day since, not galaxies and worlds away like he has forgotten she even exists. He’s become a friend and while River is only too aware that he would take more if she offered, she doesn’t kid herself. Letting Bruce into her bed would be a distraction, nothing more. She likes having him around too much to ruin it. 

 

“Bruce?”

 

“In here – put the gun away, Song.”

 

She rolls her eyes, removing her hand from her thigh holster before stepping into the dining room. Bruce stands by the candlelit dining table, wearing a pressed suit and grinning widely at her as he pulls out a chair and gestures for her to sit. River doesn’t move, standing frozen in the doorway. “What’s this?”

 

“Just a nice dinner.” He gestures to the chair again, shrugging. “Come sit. I want to talk to you.”

 

There’s a lump in her throat and her hearts pound in pure, unadulterated panic but she manages to choke out, “You’re not about to get down on one knee, are you?”

 

“What? No!” Eyes widening, Bruce shakes his head quickly, holding up a calming hand. “I’m many things, but I’m not a bigamist, River.”

 

She breathes out quietly in relief, managing a small smile as she steps into the room and approaches the dining table, noticing the carefully laid place settings as she takes her seat. “What’s this about then? Finally breaking up with me?”

 

He offers her a hard look and pours her a glass of wine. “We’d have to be in a relationship for that to happen.”

 

River takes her glass from him, allowing him to brush his fingers flirtatiously against hers. “A friendship is a type of relationship. And we both know you’re waiting around in hopes of something a bit more… physical.”

 

“Am not.” He scowls. “Well, I wouldn’t say no. But this – what we have now, is good enough for me.”

 

River sips her wine under his gaze, humming thoughtfully. “Alright, so you’re not proposing and you’re not abandoning me but we’re sitting here having a lovely romantic dinner…” She lifts a brow playfully. “Bruce, are you pregnant?”

 

He sniffs. “Are you quite through?”

 

“What’s the matter?” She laughs softly. “Your sense of humor is missing tonight.”

 

“Well you’re ruining the mood, Song.” He nudges her foot almost petulantly beneath the table. “Shut it.”

 

Folding her hands patiently in front of her, River sighs. “Go on then. I’m listening.”

 

He waits a beat, either for dramatic effect or to make sure she really is done being a cheeky sod. Then, he clears his throat and says, “I’ve been thinking -” Another suspicious pause, but River only blinks innocently at him, pursing her lips against a smile. “We spend a lot of time together.”

 

“Yes…”

 

“And most nights, unless you’re out doing whatever it is you do, we’re hanging out. So I don’t think it’s completely out of left field to ask you if you would -”

 

He keeps talking but River doesn’t hear him. She stares at him in silence, watching his mouth move but she hears nothing he says. Letting Bruce into her life hadn’t been an easy decision. River trusts so few people but he just wormed his way in and refused to leave. He’s been a good friend to her but she is only too aware of how much he wants something she is unwilling to give. It isn’t fair to keep him around but River has become her husband, too selfish to let go of those who make her better. She even cares for Bruce in her own way, but never the way she cared for – loved – someone else.

 

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready and part of her worries she’ll spend the rest of her life waiting. It’s quite obvious at this point that the Doctor isn’t going to come back. They’ve always been going in reverse and she knew one day, she would meet him when he no longer even knew her name. She hadn’t expected to survive it but she did. And now it’s all over – an entire marriage gone, with nothing but a dusty book as proof that it ever existed at all.

 

“So what do you think?” Bruce watches her hopefully, waiting for an answer as he pushes the tray of strawberries toward her.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“About the matching friendship bracelets.”

 

River blinks at him.

 

He grins. “Weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?”

 

“No, not really.”

 

“Too busy panicking?”

 

“A bit, yes,” she says sardonically, unamused by his answering grin.

 

“I’m leaving the minute summer break starts – family obligations back home. I was asking you to water my plants, look after my dog. Maybe get the mail.” He gestures around him. “The dinner might have been a bit much but I didn’t want you to say no.”

 

 _I still might_ , she thinks, frowning. He’d scared the life out of her, putting on such a production for the sake of watering his sodding plants. Honestly.

 

He grins at her like he knows what she’s thinking. “So, what do you say?”

 

She never gets the chance to reply. The dining room is quiet, only the soft classical music Bruce had put on playing in the background. And then she can’t even hear it anymore as another sound fills the room – a loud, screeching, horror-inducing, wonderful, _familiar_ sound.

 

River gazes blankly ahead and feels all the blood drain from her face.

 

Bruce stares back at her, eyes wide. “Is that -”

 

“Yes.” Her hearts sing but her mind roars with terror. She curls her shaking hands into fists in her lap, swallowing thickly. “My husband’s home.”

 

The TARDIS materializes right in front of the dining table and River sits frozen in place, a lump the size of a small planet lodged in her suddenly tight throat. Bruce stares at her but she can’t bring herself to look at him, eyes trained on the doors of that beautiful blue ship, waiting for the man inside to bound out and give her the first glimpse of her husband in over a decade.

 

Between one shaky breath and the next, the doors creak open and a man steps out – just not the man she’d been expecting. This man is still tall and thin but his hair is curly and gray and his eyes are bright blue. His features are softer and almost delicate. There are lines of age around his mouth and eyes. She stares at him with embarrassing hunger. No matter how old or how young the face, her hearts still pound whenever he’s near.

 

He doesn’t even see her. The Doctor takes one look at Bruce and the candlelit dinner before huffing and whirling back to his ship, nudging it none too gently with a booted foot. “For Christ’s sake, this is not the Antarctic in the year 4000!”

 

“Perhaps not.” River clears her throat, wondering why her voice chooses now to become all wobbly and quiet, like a scared little girl. “But it’s about to be just as cold, husband.”

 

At the sound of her voice, he stops moving entirely. He does not turn to face her but the line of his shoulders tenses, his spine straightens and his fingers curl into fists at his sides. He drops his head to stare at his shoes. Very quietly, he asks, “Why here?” and she’s quite certain he isn’t talking to her. He’s talking to the TARDIS.

 

What little hope she was holding on to vanishes in the face of his apparent apathy. Years spent waiting and when he finally shows up, he hadn’t meant to visit at all. It’s _infuriating_. “Why here? Maybe she was tired of you ignoring my calls. You may have decided a wife doesn’t suit the new face but she certainly hasn’t forgotten her child.”

 

“And you think I have?” He finally whirls to look at her and even scowling, she can’t help but drink him in, admiring the new face. Grumpy looks good on him now, more natural and less like a spoiled child. Must be the eyebrows.

 

“I don’t know what other conclusion I could possibly come to. Ten years, Doctor! Without a word from you!”

 

For a moment, he looks stunned by the revelation before the scowl returns. She’s beginning to think it’s just his new resting face. “How the bloody hell was I to know? You’re supposed to be -”

 

She raises an eyebrow when he stops himself mid-sentence. “What? Dead?” She raises her chin, shrugging. “Tried that once. Ever so dull.”

 

He gapes, promptly snaps his mouth shut and marches forward, right into her personal space. Some things never change. She struggles not to so much as breathe, reluctant to even catch the scent of him as he leans in close, those blue eyes serious and intent as he reaches out a bony hand and pokes her in the chest, just above her hearts. “Not a ghost.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

God help her she draws in a breath despite herself, filling her senses with the rich smell of coffee and spice, the familiar underlying scent of time lingering as always. Her eyes fall shut against her will and he stays close, hovering, fingertips at her elbow and his nose brushing her curls. “River -”

 

“River?”

 

Her eyes fly open and she nearly chokes on her next breath.

 

Bruce. 

 

She’d forgotten all about him.

 

The Doctor draws away from her instantly and while she sighs in relief, another part of her nearly wails at the loss of contact. She shakes herself quickly and turns to the man still sitting at the dining table and frowning at them. The Doctor frowns right back, eyeing him with suspicion. “Who’s the tosser?”

 

He stands, holding out a hand the Doctor wastes no time in ignoring entirely. “Bruce Baldwin.” River darts her gaze between both of them, the love of her life and the man who has kept the loneliness at bay the past six months. “I’m a friend of River’s.”

 

The tense set of the Doctor’s shoulders relaxes somewhat, the lines around his eyes losing their hard edge, and a small, vindictive part of River – the psychopath that never really left her, only slept in some dark corner of her mind, waiting to be awakened – wants him to hurt just as much as she has been. It surges forward with a vengeance and makes her blurt out, “Lover.”

 

The Doctor stiffens instantly, his penetrating blue eyes watching Bruce like a predator sizing up his intended victim for a weakness. She can see his fingers itching to reach for his sonic. Across the table, Bruce gapes at her in silence.

 

“How?”

 

“He asked me to dinner, I said yes, six months later, here we are -”

 

“No,” he snaps, eyes flashing. “How can you have a lover when you have a husband? Unless our marriage is suddenly more open than I remember, my darling psychopath, adultery is generally frowned upon!”

 

“Ten years of abandonment is enough to annul any relationship, my love.”

 

The term of endearment slips out as naturally as breathing, even after all this time.

 

Bruce and the Doctor both flinch, for entirely different reasons.

 

“It’s impossible to abandon someone I thought was long gone.” The Doctor glares, like a wounded animal backed into a corner. “And in case you’ve forgotten, we were married at every moment in the history of the universe.” He turns to Bruce for just a moment, looking possessive and smug. River wants to kiss him and slap him at once. “There are at least a few galaxies left in which you are still a married woman unless I give my consent.” He looks to her again, lifting an impressive eyebrow. “So go on then, Barry -”

 

“It’s Bruce.”

 

“Yes, that’s what I said. Run along. Find somebody else’s wife to canoodle with.”

 

Bruce rises slowly to his feet, glowering. “I’m not going anywhere unless River asks me to.”

 

The Doctor huffs out an exasperated sigh, waving a commanding hand that makes her blood boil. “River, get rid of your pet.”

 

“No.”

 

Clearly shocked to his core, the Doctor actually really looks at her face for the first time since he strode out of the TARDIS. She isn’t sure what he sees – possibly the shine of angry tears in her eyes, the furious flush of her cheeks, the way her always steady hands tremble – but whatever it is, it gives him pause. “River,” he begins again, almost gently.

 

She shakes her head, clenching her teeth. “ _No_. You don’t get a say – not anymore. You gave up that right a long time ago.”

 

“You’re the one who gave up, River.”

 

“Don’t you dare.” Tears sting her eyes but she stubbornly pushes them away. “I waited years for you to turn up. You never did.”

 

He growls and bites out, “Buggering hell, since when does River Song just wait around for me to show up? Why didn’t you call me?”

 

“I did!” She doesn’t realize she’s shouting until Bruce lays a quelling hand on her elbow. She shrugs him off violently, prodding a finger into the Doctor’s chest and pushing back tears. “I looked for you everywhere, always just a moment too late. I spent years carving _Hello Sweetie_ into every sodding stone tablet and cliff face I could find. You never answered.”

 

She watches the array of emotions play themselves out across his older features – helpless, devastated, and all the way back around to scowling and angry again. “I never saw anything.”

 

“I know.” She swallows, unable to face the look in his eyes as she drops her gaze to the floor. “I thought you were gone. I thought it was over -”

 

He doesn’t stick around to listen to the rest of her excuses, turning on his heel and stalking back into the TARDIS. Her hearts leap into her throat but River doesn’t try to stop him. She survived without him all this time and she’ll keep doing it long after he flies away again.

 

“River, what the hell? Why would you tell him that? I’m not your -”

 

She puts up a hand, silencing Bruce without a word, and waits. She stares at the TARDIS, hardly breathing as she waits for the moment it begins to fade away. She waits nearly a full five minutes before she realizes he isn’t leaving.

 

The Old Girl gives a faint, mournful hum.

 

River takes an unconscious step forward, hand outstretched.

 

“River?”

 

She glances over her shoulder at Bruce but she barely even sees him, already imagining what she’ll find when she steps through those doors. “I have to -”

 

“Fine.” He waves a hand at her. “Go. But then I want to know why you’re trying to get me killed by a guy who could hide the body at the beginning of fucking _time_.”

 

Biting her tongue against a retort, River turns away. The humming of the TARDIS grows louder as she moves closer. She draws in a steadying breath and pushes open the door, stepping inside for the first time in a decade. It looks different, cold blue lights and shadowy corners, bookshelves along the walls and a leather armchair that looks well-worn. It's still more of a home than her own has ever been. There is barely any time to take in the Old Girl’s new look because as River shuts the door behind her and walks toward the console, she can see the Doctor standing on the other side.

 

He doesn’t look up at the sound of her footsteps, his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes void of any emotion at all as he calmly and systemically wrenches apart the console. Sparks fly and River flinches but the Doctor does not. His movements turn sharper and more brutal, his fists white-knuckled as he grips wires and yanks with all his might.

 

The TARDIS groans.

 

River rushes forward with a pained gasp and shoves him away. He stumbles back into the railing with enough force to expel the breath from his lungs and he wheezes, hands on his knees as he glares at her and struggles to breathe. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“A time machine,” he scoffs, his Scottish accent thicker in his rage. He glares up at the time rotor and takes another menacing step forward but River stops him with a hand on his chest. “You can’t even take me to my wife! What bloody good are you?” He shoves her aside before she can stop him and heaves one last swift kick against the console. Sparks rain down on them again and River reaches for her husband with a lump in her throat.

 

“Sweetie, look at me.” He tries to push her away but she refuses to budge, taking his face in her hands. “Look at me.” Blue eyes dart up to her face once quickly and then away again. River sighs. “Stop this.”

 

He shakes his head. “If I’d known you were out there somewhere -”

 

“I know, my lo-” She stops herself, forcing a pained smile. “I know. I suppose it was just… meant to be.”

 

“Bollocks to that.” He frowns and she chokes out a laugh at his new vocabulary, too surprised when he lifts his hands to cover hers on his face to actually stop him even if she wanted to. His hands are soft and his fingers stroke over her knuckles with a frantic sort of tenderness. “Come with me.”

 

 Her stomach lurches. “Doctor -”

 

He clenches his jaw and his blue eyes burn when he looks at her. “I’m not leaving without you.”

 

River trembles at the determination in his voice and balls her hands into fists. “That isn’t your decision to make.”

 

“Do you love him?”

 

“This has nothing to do with him.”

 

“Right. Of course not.” The Doctor nods once, smiles a grim smile that makes her instantly suspicious, and straightens his shoulders. “Fine. Good.”

 

She blinks. “What?”

 

He turns from her and begins fiddling with the console. She notices instantly that his movements are gentler now, fingers lingering on the controls and stroking buttons like an apology. “Probably for the best we part ways. Bit of a relief, actually. This face isn’t quite so keen on love.”

 

It shouldn’t have stung quite so sharply to be cast aside. He did it all the time but never to her. She had always been different. Human plus. Melody Pond River Song. The woman who married him. Companions came and went like the changing of the tides but River remained – his constant, his bespoke psychopath. She had expected him to fight for her. River blinks back the sting of tears in her eyes and turns from the sight of his back to her, straightening her shoulders and scrubbing a hand over her face. When she speaks, she makes certain her voice does not waver. “Then why are you here?”

 

“Well, I never meant to come here at all but apparently the Old Girl knew I would need you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Finding Gallifrey.”


	2. and the memories we've made will never be lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years spent trying to escape from the Library, years looking for him after she did, waiting for him to turn up long after she told herself she never wanted to see him again, and now that he is finally here nothing is as she’d imagined it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor gathers his posse. For reasons.
> 
> Chapter title from Shake by The Head and the Heart.

_“You’ve got an old fashioned idea divorce is something that lasts forever, ‘til death do us part. Why divorce doesn’t mean anything nowadays, just a few words mumbled over you by a judge.”_

 

She breathes in sharply and smiles. “You remember.”

 

He sighs. “Of course you already know.”

 

“I know everything.” She turns to face him only when she’s sure he won’t see anything in her eyes that she doesn’t want him to see. He’s leaning against the console, still tall and lanky, gray-haired and dashing. For a moment, it is all she can do to stay put and not throw herself into his arms, sod her abandonment issues. When she remembers it wouldn’t matter anyway because this face doesn’t even want her, she lifts her chin and smiles coolly. “What do you need?”

 

“You.” Her breath catches before he amends, “Your expertise, my wee darling thief.”

 

She nods once. “Fine. I’ll need a moment to pack.”

 

“The TARDIS will have what you need. Our room is still just as you -” He turns abruptly away from her and picks up the phone on the console, tucking it between his ear and shoulder. “Don’t be long.”

 

She slams the TARDIS door shut behind her as she goes. Bruce stands just where she left him but she allows herself a moment to ignore him and pull herself together. Her hands are shaking and her eyes burn. Years spent trying to escape from the Library, years looking for him after she did, waiting for him to turn up long after she told herself she never wanted to see him again, and now that he is finally here nothing is as she’d imagined it would be.

 

Bruce’s voice breaks the fragile silence. “Well? Is it over?”

 

Over. Her marriage is over.

 

“River, did you tell him the truth?”

 

Wait. What?

 

It takes her a moment to realize Bruce is oblivious to what took place on the TARDIS. He only knows that the man River has spent the past six months pushing him away in favor of has returned and that she lied to his face the moment he arrived. “I’m not -” She shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s complicated.”

 

Bruce tosses his cloth napkin onto the table with their abandoned dinner and turns from her, busying himself with blowing out the candles littering the room. “You love him. You never stopped, not even when you thought you hated him.”

 

“I – no.” Even now, she can’t lie about this. “I could never hate him. Not even when I was supposed to.”

  
“Then why the hell did you lie?”

 

“He doesn’t want me!”

 

River wants to bite back the bitter words the moment they leave her mouth but Bruce only chuckles. “What? Of course he does! Did you see his face when you said we were shagging? I thought he was going to use his screwdriver to eviscerate me.”

 

“He never did like anyone else playing with his toys, even when he didn’t want them anymore.” She shakes her head. “He’s different now. Different face, different tastes…and I’m still the same old wife.”

 

“River -” Bruce sighs and watches her with soft, amused eyes. “If you think for one second that man isn’t still absolutely mad for you, I’m not sure we were watching the same row.”

 

“That’s sweet, Bruce, but you don’t know him the way I do.” River smiles sadly and pats his arm. “He’s moved on.”

 

“But -”

 

“He came here because he needs my help.”

 

Bruce scoffs. “He needs you.”

 

“He needs my expertise.”

 

“You’ve been waiting for this since -”

 

“Stop it, Bruce.”

 

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

 

“Why are you? It’s like you want me to run off with him!”

 

“I want you to be happy, River!”

 

“I am!”

 

“You know what’s sad?” He watches her quietly, shaking his head. “I think you really genuinely believe that.” River feels her breath catch in her throat and takes a step back but Bruce steps with her, capturing her hand before she can slap him with it. “As much as I tried not to see it sometimes, I knew it was never going to be me. It was him - always has been."

 

She stares at him. “Is this your breakup speech?”

 

“Impossible to break up with someone when we were never together.” He smiles. “And I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

 

“I want you to come with me.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

River draws in a breath and holds it, eyeing him solemnly. If she has to leave with the Doctor – worse, a Doctor who no longer loves her like a husband is supposed to love a wife – she can’t do it alone. It‘s selfish to ask Bruce to come along and watch her pine after her ex but she needs him and she isn’t above asking too much of him. “The Doctor needs my help and I’m going. I want you to come with me.”

 

“On the TARDIS? Really?”

 

She manages a smile at the way his eyes light up. “Really.”

 

-

 

The Doctor is waiting in a Victorian armchair – she almost scoffs at how very Heathcliff he’s become this go round – when River ushers Bruce through the doors but he leaps to his feet at the sight of them. “It’s about time. Packed your whole bloody wardrobe, did you?” He snaps his fingers and waves a hand. “Say goodbye to your human. We’ve still got to pick up everyone else.”

 

Bruce hasn’t moved, staring around him with the usual look of wide-eyed awe but River steps past him and frowns at the Doctor. “Everyone else?”

 

“Yes, of course. You’re hardly my only ally.”

 

She flexes her jaw. “Bruce is coming along.” The Doctor whirls around with his mouth already open to protest. “He won’t get in the way. You have my word. But if he doesn’t go neither do I.”

 

His mouth snaps shut again but his eyes still blaze with annoyance as he snaps, “Oh wonderful. Lovely. Didn’t realize it was Take Your Pet To Work Day.” He grumbles under his breath and turns back to the console. “Have a seat, Bill.”

 

Bruce finally stops gaping to look at the Doctor. “It’s Bruce.”

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

River rolls her eyes and gently pushes Bruce toward the console. “Speaking of human pets, who are we picking up? Your companion?”

 

He slid his eyes toward her and glared when he found her smirking. “Clara.”

 

“Ah. I remember her. Sweet girl. Does she wear a little bell around her neck so you’ll hear her when she comes running?”

 

The Doctor flips on a lever on the console with savage force and sends them hurtling into the vortex. Behind them, Bruce yelps and grabs onto the railing. “No but her eyes get really massive when she asks for a treat.”

 

“Oh?” River raises an eyebrow and stifles the spark of jealousy that threatens to ignite in her chest. “Do tell.”

 

“Not like that,” the Doctor snaps. “We don’t all shag our humans.”

 

She turns to look at Bruce before the Doctor can see her flinch, watching him grip the railing and squeeze his eyes shut until the TARDIS comes to a shuddering stop. Maybe she should have given him a motion sickness shot before they left. She pats his arm sympathetically. Clara comes striding through the doors only a moment later, a bag slung over her shoulder and a bright grin on her face at the sight of River.

 

Already busy typing in their next destination, the Doctor doesn’t look up as he says, “Clara, you remember my ex.” River grits her teeth and swallows the lump in her throat, watching him pointedly avoid her gaze. “And Bob, my replacement.”

 

Bruce scowls, muttering under his breath.

 

Clara blinks. “Wow. I thought you were kidding.” Shaking her head quickly, she turns back to River and holds out a hand. “Hello again.” She pauses. “You remember me, don’t you?”

 

River forces a smile and takes her hand. “Of course. Lovely to see you again.”

 

“I’m just happy everyone else can see _you_ now.” Clara grins. “And, Bob, was it?”

 

“Bruce.” Still frowning, he holds out a hand and shakes Clara’s. “You travel with the Doctor?”

 

“I’m more like his minder.” She glances over her shoulder. Satisfied the Doctor is too busy piloting the TARDIS back into the vortex to listen to her, she confides, “Most days I feel a bit like a nurse herding a really socially inept mental patient.”

 

Bruce nods slowly, glancing between Clara, the Doctor, and River as if he can’t decide if he should be amused or concerned. She manages a thin smile for his sake but can’t quite stop her eyes from drifting over Clara’s shoulder, where the Doctor pretends he isn’t looking back. “River always says it was more like babysitting a nine year old boy on a sugar rush.”

 

Behind Clara, the Doctor grumbles under his breath and punches in the last of the coordinates with unnecessary force. “That was a long time ago, Bruce,” River explains softly. “I imagine things are different now.”

 

The TARDIS lands with a jarring thud. River and Clara stay perfectly still but Bruce stumbles into the railing again with a groan. Bracing himself with one hand, he glances at River and grimaces. “Is the landing supposed to be that rough?”

 

Still watching the Doctor, River murmurs, “Bless, he never uses the stabilizers.”

 

He looks up and their eyes meet.

 

For a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. The years fall away and the distance between them now all but disappears. Bruce and Clara don’t even exist. It’s only River alone with her Doctor, gazing at him like she always has, as if nothing in the universe is quite so intoxicating as the rush she finds in him. And then he blinks. The lines around his eyes harden and as he looks away with a deep frown, she remembers that he is not her Doctor any more.

 

She looks away, sees Bruce watching her with a pained expression, and shakes her head. As the TARDIS doors swing open, she turns toward them with relief, grateful for the distraction as Vastra and Jenny step inside. Their familiar faces help to soothe the ache in her chest and she smiles as Vastra ignores the Doctor entirely, sweeping across the control room floor and marching right up to River, her eyes soft and amused. She takes River’s hand in her slender, scaly one. “I am glad to see you free of the Library, Professor.”

 

River smiles gently. “Thank you. So am I.”

 

“Though,” her friend continues primly, “I must admit data code did suit you.”

 

“Oi,” Jenny grumbles behind her, scowling. “Married, remember?”

 

Vastra hisses gently, glancing at her wife. “Oh hush. You’ve said the very same thing yourself, my dear.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t use that voice.” Jenny softens when she looks at River, grinning. “I really am pleased to see you, Professor.”

 

River smiles too, letting go of Vastra’s hand to grasp Jenny’s arm, squeezing in silent thanks. “It’s wonderful to see you both.”

 

Their eyes drift to her left and it’s only then that River remembers Bruce. Vastra tilts her head, eyeing him with that awkward, polite smile she usually reserves for refereeing domestics between River and her husband. Ex-husband. “You must be the new… mate.”

 

“Bruce,” River says simply, ever conscious of the Doctor lurking around the peripheral of their little reunion and still pretending he isn’t listening. It makes her skin itch to pretend Bruce is something more to her than what he is. She doesn't even really know what he is. Certainly not what she's led everyone to believe. A companion, perhaps. The Doctor isn’t the only one who likes to pick up strays. “This is Bruce. Bruce, this is Vastra and her wife, Jenny.”

 

Looking dazed, Bruce nods. River tries to see what he sees – the bright green lizard woman in Victorian garb and her petite human mate. “Right. Of course it is.”

 

“So,” Clara says brightly, pasting on a smile. “How did you get out? Floss and a paperclip?”

 

“Handcuffs and lipstick?” Jenny interjects, shrugging when Vastra glances at her. “What? Like she doesn’t always have them handy?”

 

Vastra sighs, reaching out to steady Jenny when the TARDIS lands again. River feels an ache in her chest at the familiar, protective gesture. “I would be interested to hear of your grand escape as well, Professor. You haven’t come to dine once at Paternoster Row since then.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” The first place she went after she escaped the Library was Vastra’s home – it was always her safe haven while she was alive. Vastra hadn’t said much about the Doctor then and was little help in finding him. Now, River knows why. “Spoilers.”

 

She can’t remember the last time she said that word. Neither can the Doctor, judging by his sudden coughing fit. All eyes turn to him for the first time in several minutes. Clara edges away from the group and closer to him, trailing around the console to look at the scanner. “So what’s the plan? You do have a plan, don’t you?”

 

Recovering himself, the Doctor clears his throat with a scowl. “Of course I have a plan.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

River watches him shake his head, his mouth still turned down and his brow furrowed. He’s so different from the man she married, so distant and downright surly, like her Doctor in his worst moods. And yet she can still see him, in the way he strokes the TARDIS console and the way he looks down at Clara now, his eyes soft and amused. He’s still in there, beneath the gruff exterior. For some reason, that only makes his rejection worse.

 

“Surprise first, then plan.”

 

Clara frowns. “Surprise? What surprise could there possibly be in Cardiff?”

 

Oh no.

 

River draws in a sharp breath, reaching out blindly for Bruce’s arm. He stumbles as she shepherds him behind her, using her body as shield.

 

“River, what -”

 

“Stay behind me,” she hisses through her teeth. “And for god’s sake, stay quiet.”

 

“What? Why? Is it an alien?”

 

The doors burst open. A tall, broad-shouldered man strides into the TARDIS wearing that terrible, handsome grin he thinks will get him just about anything. It usually does. River sighs. “Worse, it’s Jack.”

 

Clara peers around the time rotor, frowning. “Jack who?”

 

“Jack Harkness.” His smile widens as he looks at Clara. “At your service and ready to carry your pretty little self around in my pocket.”

 

Startled, Clara glances helplessly at the Doctor. "How... nice."

 

The Doctor growls something under his breath and waves a careless hand. “Go on then. Make it quick and don’t touch anyone. Rassilon knows where those hands have been.”

 

Standing directly in front of Bruce in a vain effort to shield him, River watches the Doctor. He doesn’t look directly at her but his eyes flicker in her general direction, like she’s a phantom lurking in the corner of his vision he doesn’t want to see. Her hearts squeeze in her chest but she can’t look away, hoping that maybe he’ll be brave enough to meet her gaze. It reminds her too much of her days as a ghost, haunting his footsteps and waiting for the day he would finally see her. She swallows tightly, barely listening to Jack as he makes his rounds, telling the Doctor the new eyebrows are sexy and insinuating that he’s still waiting for an invitation into Vastra and Jenny’s bed.

 

She only looks away from the Doctor when her old friend finally reaches her, gathering her up into his strong arms and gripping her tightly in a bear hug. His whole frame engulfs her and as her face presses into his broad chest, River breathes in the scent of his cologne and the utter wrongness of time that always lingers on his skin.

 

He buries his face in her hair. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?”

 

She closes her eyes, smiling. Jack may be loud and ridiculous and a walking innuendo but he never fails to look out for her – always has. “I’m fine. Really.”

 

“Sure? I’ll kick his ass for you.”

 

She snorts.

 

“River?”

 

“I thought I said don’t touch anyone.”

 

At the simultaneous protests from Bruce and the Doctor, River steps away from Jack and finds them glaring at each other from across the room. Bruce has successfully caught Jack’s attention now and she rolls her eyes as the older man studies him with a grin. “Who’s the beefcake?”

 

“Barnaby Balding,” the Doctor leans against the console, frowning at his shoes. “River’s pet.”

 

Bruce scowls. “It’s -”

 

The Doctor speaks over him. “Now, if you’re through violating everyone perhaps we can get on with it.”

 

Leaning against the console next to him, Clara nudges him with a gentle elbow. “Going to tell us the plan now?”

 

He ignores her, lifting his head to finally look at River. His eyes are piercing, pinning her in place. “River, up for a bit of theft?” His lips twitch in a rare smile. “Not rusty, are you?”

 

She glares.

 

Maddeningly, his smile widens.

 

She might have paused to appreciate it if she wasn’t so infuriated. He waits ten years to show up, tells her he doesn’t want her, and then insults her talent for thievery. She hates him. With a growl, River reaches into her pocket, pulls out her newest prize, and throws it at him.

 

He fumbles to catch it and his eyes widen almost comically. It makes his eyebrows look even angrier. “My psychic paper? How did you -”

 

“Spoilers.” She forces a smirk. “Mind the swearing in there, honey.”

 

He tucks the paper back into his jacket pocket. “I have a lot of internalized anger.”

 

“Sure you don’t mean unresolved tension?” Jack mutters, whistling.

 

The Doctor turns his glare on him.

 

River blinks, glancing away. She’d almost forgotten all of their friends standing around them. Huddled together, Vastra and Jenny watch them with blank expressions, far too used to seeing them bicker. Jack and Clara stand on opposite sides of the console, staring at the floor and hiding smiles. Bruce is right at her side, like always.

 

She clears her throat. “What am I stealing?”

 

“Gallifrey.” He pauses, the dramatic sod. “Well, a piece of it anyway.”


	3. miles can't come between the kind of love we've seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tastes change during regeneration. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
> 
> “Like how he hates wearing bowties now?”
> 
> River flinches, gritting her teeth. “Yes. Like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which something is found, something is lost, and the Doctor isn't sorry. Bastard.
> 
> Chapter title from Colors by April Smith.

_“And I suppose I proposed to you?”_

_“Well, you practically did – making goo-goo eyes at me for two years until I broke down.”_

 

“Tell me again why we couldn’t just get the painting from the museum in London?”

 

River flashes her torch around the empty room, scanning the paintings hanging on the walls around them. There are miles and miles of them, all hanging side by side with no rhyme or reason. It could take hours to find the right one. “Because Starship UK has fewer security measures and I’m more familiar with the layout.”

 

Clara wrinkles her nose, tiptoeing behind her with a torch of her own. “And why is that?”

 

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve had to steal a painting for the Doctor.” River allows herself a moment to study the huge Monet watercolor in front of her, biting her lip. “Thanks for volunteering to come. If you hadn’t, Bruce would have insisted and I’m afraid he’d have only gotten in the way. He isn’t exactly the adventurous type.”

 

Strolling to a stop beside her, Clara smiles. “Well, we’ve been mentally linked. I have a responsibility to you now.”

 

River huffs out a laugh and together, they keep walking. “I’m grateful.”

 

“Grateful enough to tell me what’s going on with you and him?” Clara flashes her torch around the room, waggling her brows as she inspects a long row of portraits – all of the royal family. “From what I could gather, you were pretty mad about the Doctor last time I saw you. A little angry, maybe, but -”

 

“A lot has changed since then.” River leads her along through an arched entryway and up a set of stairs. “Ten years for me. A thousand for him.”

 

Climbing behind her, torch pointed at the ground, Clara is quiet for a long moment. They’ve nearly reached the landing at the top of the stairs when she finally asks, “Is it because he regenerated? Because I know he looks different and he’s a bit grumpy – like a tetchy old cat, really – but honestly, he’s not so different underneath. He’s not clumsy or silly or flirty but he’s the Doctor, you know? It took time for me too and -”

 

“Clara.” River pauses on the stairs and shuts her eyes, drawing a fortifying breath. “No one knows more than me what regeneration is like. I have seen that man in every face he has ever worn and I have loved them all. It was always the man underneath I wanted.”

 

“Then why -”

 

“Tastes change during regeneration. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 

“Like how he hates wearing bowties now?”

 

River flinches, gritting her teeth. “Yes. Like that.”

 

“What does that have to do with -” Clara shakes her head, frowning. “Hang on, you’re not trying to tell me he doesn’t want you, are you? Because that is properly insane.”

 

Turning from her wide-eyed partner in crime, River hurries the rest of the way up the stairs. “Is it? He practically said so himself. It isn’t his fault. It’s just how he feels now.”

 

Clara doesn’t say anything to that, following silently behind River the rest of the way. They reach the landing and carefully comb through the upper level, searching every wall and pedestal, flashing their torches around in the darkness. It takes them ages – long enough for River to contemplate just hacking into the system and searching the archives for its exact location. It would take a hell of a lot more work and she’d have to use Clara as a lookout but –

 

“What about in there?”

 

She looks up when Clara nudges her, flashing her torch into a smaller room branching off from the small alcove they’ve just passed through. River stops and stares at it. Apart from the rest of the rooms they’ve searched, this one has been protected with higher security measures than the cameras River had disabled when they came in. The floor of the room is covered in bright red laser beams.

 

Of course.

 

River sighs. “How’s your dancing?”

 

“Are we waltzing?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.”

 

Clara smiles, gesturing ahead. “You lead, Professor.”

 

As they step, hop, and slip over and around the laser beams slotted across the floor, they scan the artwork around them for the painting. With Clara at River’s back, searching the opposite wall, they make an efficient team.

 

“So, why is this room so protected?”

 

River picks up her pace, stepping neatly over a row of four beams. If they don’t find the painting soon, she has no doubt the Doctor will either send someone to look for them or go himself. If he sends someone, Bruce might come too and if the Doctor comes after them himself, well, she isn’t quite ready to face him again just yet. “These paintings are dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?” Clara sounds intrigued and perhaps a little thrilled. It’s a testament to just how long she has been with the Doctor. River bites her lip and wonders if he knows it himself yet – the signs that it’s almost time to let go. “Dangerous how?”

 

“They hold secrets.” Spotting an easel in the corner of the room with the painting perched on it covered by a sheet, River moves faster, barely even glancing at the lasers now. “Some of them even come alive if you touch them.”

 

Eyes widening, Clara studies the Mona Lisa suspiciously as she passes by it. In her haste, she stumbles but River steadies her, keeping a firm grip on her elbow until she finds her balance again. Stopping mid-step over another laser beam, she stares at the painting spanning half the wall. “Found it.”

 

“Blimey, looks a lot bigger now that we’re nicking it.” Clara pulls out the bag containing their supplies and unzips it. As she begins to unpack their supplies, River takes the tiny transporter devices and sets to work attaching them to the back of the painting, one in all four corners. “This is kind of fun. Like a girls night. Only less tequila and we’re going to go home with our underwear on.”

 

River glances up from her task to gesture to her skintight cat suit. “Speak for yourself.”

 

Clara snorts, feeding her a line of cable.

 

“Well,” River amends, attaching wires to the transporters in the back. “We did talk about boys.”

 

Nodding slowly, Clara purses her lips. “About that…”

 

Damn. 

 

And she was just beginning to like Clara.

 

“The Doctor was probably angry when he said he didn’t want you. Not that it’s any excuse for being a pillock but your new bloke was standing right there.”

 

River huffs. “Bruce isn’t my new bloke.”

 

“But the Doctor said -”

 

She shrugs. “I lied to him.”

 

Clara pauses, wires clenched in her hands as she gapes at River. “What? Why would you do that?”

 

Ignoring her for the moment, River finishes connecting the transporters and stands back, waiting for the telltale green light that will let her know they’re working and connected to the TARDIS. When the light flashes, she smiles and offers Clara a nod. The girl fishes through the bag for the remote and mashes the button. The painting shimmers for a moment, like an afterimage, and then it vanishes entirely, leaving nothing but a gold placard – Gallifrey Falls No More.

 

Dusting off her hands, River moves to help Clara disconnect the wires and stuff them all carefully back into the bag. “My Doctor died on Christmas. I never read any accounts of his survival. Of course, I knew him. Knew he could escape anything if he wanted to, even death. Made it a bit difficult for a girl to move on and he was certainly in no hurry to make an appearance.” She places the last coiled cable into the bag and zips it shut, handing it to Clara, who takes it without looking, her wide eyes fixed on River. “I couldn’t just skip off with him – not after everything. And a part of me wanted to hurt him. Turns out he doesn’t even care.”

 

Shouldering the bag, Clara glances back at the empty space on the wall and sighs. “Back to base, then?”

 

“Back to base,” River confirms, smiling sadly.

 

-

 

After their first and only date, River didn’t talk about the Doctor much. Bruce had assumed it was because it was too painful, like remembering a loved one after they’ve passed away. From what she _had_ said, Bruce had been expecting someone a bit more, well, young. He’d had the energy of a child, this boyish exuberance River had recalled with a smile so fond Bruce couldn’t help the hot rush of jealousy. It had never lasted long. It faded quickly in the face of the obvious, unwavering devotion naked on her face and in her eyes. The longing for a man she’d thought lost.

 

But here he stands, talking in hushed voices with the lizard woman called Vastra – Bruce is trying not to think too deeply about any of this in a desperate bid not to freak out. That boyish charm River had recalled so fondly is nowhere to be found. Bruce studies this weary, lined face with unashamed fascination. This is the man who holds River’s heart. Hearts. _Not thinking about it_.

 

Except, if River is to be believed, this is also the man who no longer wants her hearts. It’s a laughable concept to him after spending the last six months in her company. River is mad and clever and she makes him laugh so hard his stomach aches without even trying, just by being her scandalous, wicked self. She’s beautiful and kind and just accompanying her to the grocery store is an adventure. River is a hurricane and it’s utterly impossible not to be swept up in her violent path. Bruce can’t imagine such a force of nature loving him and not returning that love. It’s just not possible. It defies all reason.

 

So there is only one logical explanation. The Doctor is a liar. The question is: why? Bruce leans against the railing around the control room and does his best not to touch anything or make eye contact with the dashing stranger River had tried so hard to shield him from earlier. He’s been eyeing Bruce like a particularly dishy piece of meat for several minutes now. He tugs at his collar and tries not to fidget, focusing his attention determinedly on the Doctor.

 

He’s tall and quite thin, his gray hair a little unruly. He dresses like a retired Keith Richards, if Keith Richards were shockingly Scottish. He moves like he’s younger than he is, spry and agile as he’d skirted around the console, his slender hands all grace when he moves them as he speaks. But his eyes give him away. They’re impossibly old. They’re also cold and blue and the one moment Bruce had noticed them filled with light and warmth, he’d been looking at River. So why is he trying so hard to be so indifferent?

 

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

 

Startled, Bruce glances at the man suddenly standing beside him. Jack. He joins Bruce in watching the Doctor’s hushed conversation with Vastra, his brows lifted in amusement. Bruce swallows. “Sorry?”

 

“You’re thinking of talking to him. I wouldn’t.” Jack turns his head and winks at him. “I like your pretty head attached to the rest of you.”

 

Bruce blushes, looking away. “I just want to know -”

 

“We all want to know.” Jack smirks, laying a hand on his arm, warm fingers curling over his bicep. “And you’re the last person he would tell. Besides, this new face is a little confrontational.”

 

New face? No, not thinking about it.

 

“I don’t care -”

 

“Oi, you.” Bruce turns quickly and finds the Doctor staring at Jack, eyes narrowed and conversation with Vastra apparently forgotten. “Did I say you could touch that?”

 

Jack heaves a long-suffering sigh and removes his hand from Bruce’s arm. “Sorry, Doc. Couldn’t resist.”

 

“You never can.” The Doctor scowls. “A bit of self-control never hurt anyone, you know.”

 

“It would hurt me, Doc.” Jack presses a hand over his heart. “Deeply.”

 

The Doctor rolls his eyes.

 

Bruce steps forward before the other man can turn his attention away again, clearing his throat. Very old, very irritated blue eyes fall on him and Bruce has to fight the urge to shrink away. “Shouldn’t River be back by now?”

 

The Doctor huffs. “She’s stealing a painting from the Queen of England, numpty. There isn’t an exact time frame for this sort of thing.” He lifts a heavy brow at Bruce like he’s a child speaking out of turn and asks archly, “Why? Worried about her, are you?”

 

Bruce meets his gaze defiantly. “Yes.”

 

“You don’t know her very well then.” The Doctor turns his back on him dismissively, his shoulders tight but his movements languid as he fiddles with the controls of his ship. “River Song can take care of herself.”

 

“And that means you don’t have to?” Bruce clenches his fists, watching the Doctor stiffen.

 

He turns slowly on his heel and meets Bruce’s glare with a forced grin. “Not anymore. That’s your job now, Barnabas.”

 

“Bruce.”

 

The Doctor ignores him. “I’m sure you’ll do a much better job. Won’t make a right bloody mess of it like I did.”

 

For all of his forced apathy and glib words, there is no hiding the genuine pain in his eyes and Bruce can’t help but stare. “She loves you.”

 

His mouth twitches. “But she chose you.”

 

She really hadn’t. It isn’t his secret to reveal so Bruce grits his teeth against the protestation that claws up his throat, insisting instead, “You still care.”

 

The Doctor regards him blankly, his face giving nothing away. “And what makes you think that?”

 

“Because I know River. Once you’ve met her, it’s impossible not to care.”

 

The Doctor softens at that, his eyes losing their frost and his mouth curling up at the corners. He turns away from Bruce again but not before he mutters a soft, “Rather clever for a pet, aren’t you?”

 

-

 

As they make their way through the labyrinth of lasers once again, River spends a few minutes wishing she’d taken the time to disable the system before Clara ventures, “I don’t know much about your relationship with the Doctor. His last body didn’t like to talk about you.”

 

River flinches. “Yes, I remember.”

 

“It wasn’t like that. He got upset even hearing your name.” Clara glances at her, lips pursed thoughtfully. “But this him… he still doesn’t talk about you often but when he does, his whole grumpy face lights up. He’s mad about you. He never stopped being mad about you. Whatever his reasons for trying to convince you otherwise, don’t believe a word out of his stupid Scottish mouth.”

 

Forcing back the flicker of hope in her chest, River shakes her head and tells herself that whatever Clara thinks she might know, she hadn’t been there when the Doctor dismissed her with a wave of his hand. _Bit of a relief, actually. This face isn’t quite so keen on love_. Like he’d been grateful she had someone else to ease the guilt of not wanting her any more. Swallowing, River shoves the words away and manages a small smile for Clara. “I’ll have to remember that.”

 

Clara sighs, shaking her head. “You’re just as bloody impossible as he is. Honestly, the pair of you are -” Stumbling over a laser, Clara staggers with a panicked gasp and River watches in horror as she comes mere centimeters from tripping the alarm. Only a bit of fancy footwork saves the girl from alerting the entire ship to their presence.

 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, River exchanges a relieved look with her and opens her mouth to tease her about the Doctor passing on his clumsiness to her when he regenerated but Clara reaches out a hand to right herself and brushes against a painting on the wall – The Scream by Edvard Munch.

 

The consequences are immediate.

 

The painting actually screams, shrieking so loud Clara stumbles again and covers her ears, grimacing. Around them, alarms join in with the piercing screech and River swears under her breath, grabbing Clara by the elbow. “Time to run,” she says, tugging her along. “Don’t worry about the lasers. Bit late for that now.”

 

They race down corridors in the dark and River is relieved that Clara manages to keep pace with her. The alarm still blasts and the sound of shouting has joined the cacophony, the royal guards no doubt running to the rescue, their queen alongside them. River grits her teeth and pushes herself further, having neither the time nor the patience to explain to Liz exactly why she’s stealing another painting.

 

The TARDIS comes into view at the top of a winding staircase and they reach the bottom of it before the guards catch up. Their first shot hits the banister and when Clara yelps, River pushes her ahead. “ _Go_.”

 

The girl doesn’t argue, stumbling up the stairs, probably thinking River is right behind her. She almost follows but the second shot hits its mark. She staggers on the fifth step, clutching her arm. She turns to face the guards as they approach, her blaster in hand. “Halt! You are under arrest by order of Her Majesty the Queen. Lower your weapon and come with us.”

 

River smiles, thumb sliding smoothly over the stun setting on her gun. “Sorry boys, I don’t lower my weapon on a first date. I’m a lady, after all.”

 

They exchange puzzled glances, much to her delight.

 

“Well,” she begins brightly, hearing more footsteps in the distance. Time to go. “This was lovely. Next time you might even get lucky. But not tonight, I’m afraid.”

 

She fires before the poor dears can begin to understand what she means, four quick successive shots to send them all sprawling across the floor, weapons hitting the ground with dull thuds. River plucks an imaginary curtsy as she tucks her gun away, eyeing the stunned bodies at her feet. “Better luck next time, boys.”

 

Turning on her heel, she jogs the rest of the way up the stairs, hissing every time she accidentally jostles her injured arm, and makes it to the TARDIS at the top just as the rest of the Queen’s guards flood the room. She peeks her head out, offers them a wink, and shuts the door on the sound of their gunfire.

 

Lounging against the wall beside her, Jack crooks an eyebrow and grins. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we, Professor?”

 

“You like me close,” she murmurs, winking.

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

The Doctor’s exasperated voice from across the TARDIS makes them both grin and River turns away from Jack to find Bruce and Clara both hovering near her. Wide-eyed and babbling apologies, Clara says, “River, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I tripped -”

 

“It’s quite alright, dear. Would have been a little too boring for my taste if you hadn’t.” River pats her shoulder with her good arm and glances at Bruce. “What? Miss me already?”

 

“What the hell, River?” He grasps her wrist and leans close, inspecting her arm with a scowl. “That isn’t just a scratch, it’s -”

 

“Bruce, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.” Ever conscious of the Doctor standing at the console and watching them, she grits her teeth and tugs her arm away, glowering at him. “I’ve had much worse.”

 

He frowns. “That may be but you need stitches.”

 

“I’m a few hundred years old. Let me be the judge of whether or not I need stitches, will you?” She steps around him and stalks up to the console, glancing at the Doctor. “Get here in one piece?”

 

He nods, studying her. “Vastra and Jenny took it to my study.”

 

“Told you I could get it.” She offers him a smug look and his mouth twitches, eyes crinkling with restrained amusement. “Now, where to next?”

 

“Nowhere.”

 

“What -”

 

“You’re bleeding all over my console,” he says. “Jack, stitch her up.”

 

“It doesn’t need -”

 

His sharp blue eyes narrow and River feels a completely inappropriate little thrill shoot down her spine. It’s so distracting she doesn’t notice him moving closer until his fingers bite into her arm and she gasps, breathing hitching in pain as blood seeps from the wound and stains his fingertips red.

 

“Either go willingly or I’ll haul you over my shoulder and carry you there myself.”

 

“Promise?”

 

He doesn’t answer, staring at his hand on her arm, his teeth clenched. River stares too, distantly noting the ring on his finger and wondering when he’d developed the proclivity for jewelry. “Contrary to whatever bollocks Kovarian fed you in the form of bedtime stories, no one is sodding invincible, not even you. Now _go_.”

 

Oh she hates him. She might even hate this him more than she’d hated the last one.

 

“Fine,” she snarls. “Don’t start the meeting without me.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” he says mockingly, smirking at her.

 

Bastard. 

 

“Jack,” she calls, striding from the room. “Med bay.”

 

He snaps off a salute. “As her ladyship commands.”

 

As she stalks off down the corridor, she hears Bruce call after her but she doesn’t turn around, clutching her arm in hopes of not leaving a trail of blood behind her. “No need to follow after her like a puppy, Barry,” she hears the Doctor snap. “River bloody Song hardly needs a hand to hold.”

 

Not any hand. Just one, and he doesn’t seem keen on offering it to her any more. Stoutly ignoring the pang in her chest, River digs her fingers into her bloodied arm and grits her teeth. She has gotten along just fine without a hand to hold in the last ten years and she’ll carry on just as well once he’s gone again.

 

Reaching the med bay, she carefully wrestles out of her cat suit and reaches for her battle dress, still hanging in a corner of the room. It’s worn and comfortable and familiar – exactly what she needs right now. She steps into it as she hears Jack’s footsteps in the corridor. She ignores him and heads for the supply shelves, using one hand to grab everything she needs until Jack sighs and comes up behind her, steering her by the waist away from the shelves and into a chair. “Sit your ass down and let someone take care of _you_ for five minutes.”

 

She frowns, watching in silence as he turns back to the shelves and balances alcohol, cotton swabs, bandages, and a stitching kit in his arms. He drops everything onto the table next to her and settles across from her, keeping his attention firmly on her arm and the supplies. It isn’t like Jack to be so quiet when there’s so much to say and River is on edge. She barely notices the sting of antiseptic in the wound on her arm or Jack cleaning it out to keep the infection at bay. She stares resolutely at him until he cracks.

 

“What?”

 

“You have something to say.”

 

He lifts an eyebrow, mouth quirking. “Did I say that?”

 

“No. But I know.”

 

He shrugs but offers nothing.

 

River scowls, watching him thread his needle. “I don’t need stitches.”

 

“If you want to keep using this arm you do.” He lifts his head and smirks, thumb stroking her elbow softly. “Hold still, Song. I know what I’m doing.”

 

She snorts at the familiar exchange. “You’re a doctor now, are you?”

 

“No but I’ve spent some time with one.” He winks, turning back to the kit and pulling out something, tossing it at her.

 

She knows without glancing at the bottle exactly what it is. Jack has stitched her up often enough in the past that it’s become somewhat routine. The only one who has had more practice nursing her back to health after saving the world, the universe, or her drink in a bar brawl is the Doctor. The reminder of the tempting Scottish bastard in the control room stings more than the needle piercing her skin and River uncaps the whiskey bottle with her teeth.

 

After a generous sip and a rough swipe of her sleeve over her mouth, Jack finally asks, “What are you doing, River?”

 

A million clever retorts come to mind immediately, ways to throw him off and make him smile, make him forget all about what he really means until it’s too late. She feels too tired for her usual game of cat and mouse and if she can talk to anyone, it’s Jack. She sighs. “I don’t even know anymore.”

 

“You can’t possibly care about the beefcake. He’s sweet but he’s… simple. Pretty, I’ll give you that.” Jack grins at her, tongue caught between his teeth like a naughty child. “But we both know if you cared about pretty faces, you and I would have jumped in the sack years ago. It was always just _him_. Gave me a whole new reason to hate the Doc.”

 

River rolls her eyes, reaching out with a blood and whiskey-soaked hand to ruffle his hair, amused when he gives an exaggerated purr.

 

“So what’s up? Are you trying to make him jealous?”

 

She shakes her head, watching him pull the thread through her skin, neat little stitches all in a row. He’s gotten quite good over the years. The first few times it looked as though Dr. Frankenstein had used her body for a bit of scientific experimentation. “To be jealous he would have to care, Jack.”

 

“What makes you think he doesn’t?”

 

“He told me.”

 

“Bullshit.” Jack uses his teeth to cut the thread, carefully setting aside the needle before he picks up the white bandage and tape. “I don’t know what TARDIS you’ve been in, honey, but in this one he can’t stop looking at you.”

 

River takes another swig of whiskey. “Well darling, that’s what happens when you come back from the dead. Tends to fascinate people. Even ex-husbands.”

 

“ _Riight_.” Jack waggles his brows, not even looking at her arm as he wraps it. “So is that why when he isn’t looking at you he’s glaring at Beefcake like he’s wondering if he can toss him into a black hole without anyone noticing?”

 

Damn it all, why is everyone on this ship so determined to give her hope where there is none? She understands, truly she does. If she hadn’t been there and heard the Doctor say it himself, she wouldn’t have believed it either. But she had been there and he did say it. He doesn’t want her or romance or a wife. All he wants is help finding his home planet. So she’ll help him. And then she’ll go. And everyone else can sodding well shut up about it.

 

“What are you doing here, Jack?”

 

He huffs at the subject change, ignoring her swat. “The Doctor asked me to.”

 

“Obviously,” she snaps. “Why? What is he up to?”

 

Jack shrugs. “You got me, sweetheart. Said he wanted me to come along, get in the way. Hell if I know what he’s talking about but I owed him a favor so here I am.”

 

“Get in the way?”

 

Jack nods.

 

River frowns, watching in silence as her friend finishes bandaging her arm. In the way of what? Did the Doctor call his friends for the same reason River had taken Bruce along? To act as a buffer? The thought is a sobering one and it stings more than the whiskey sliding down her throat. Was he really so terrified she’d corner him and snog him against his will? Well, he could rest easy. She scowls. River doesn’t roam where she isn’t wanted. Well. Not often. Not without good reason. Not unless it’s fun. Kissing a husband who doesn’t want to be her husband anymore? Not fun.

 

“Stop the hemorrhaging?”

 

River and Jack glance up and find the Doctor in the doorway, one heavy brow arched mockingly. If she looks closely enough, she thinks she sees a hint of concern in his gaze but she decides quickly that it’s wistful thinking on her part and looks away with a scowl. She keeps her gaze fixed firmly on her whiskey but Jack replies, “All better, Doc. Won’t even be a scar.”

 

“Thanks to you.” River ruffles his hair again, forcing a smile. “You’ve improved.”

 

“Well, you’ve given me a lot of practice, doll.” Jack captures her hand and kisses her palm. “You can stop any time.”

 

“And let you get rusty?” She tosses her hair, winking. “Never.”

 

The Doctor clears his throat and while River absolutely refuses to look at him, she can sense his gaze on her, a prickling sensation against the side of her face. “If you’re through flirting, we’ve a bloody planet to find.”

 

As he turns and stalks away, Jack stares after him with narrowed eyes, licking his lips. “Is it me or has he gotten bossier?”

 

River smiles. “Like it?”

 

“Oh yeah. You?”

 

“Always did, honey.”

 

Jack watches her lower her gaze to her hands and sighs, taking them between his own. “River, whatever he said to make you think -”

 

“River?”

 

He pulls his hands away like Bruce might get angry and River frowns before she remembers she hadn’t exactly told him it was all a lie. She takes his hand again as Bruce appears in the doorway, smiling reassuringly when Jack glances at her. He squeezes her fingers. “I’m alright, Bruce. Jack took care of me.”

 

“Have you ever run from a fight in your life?”

 

“Only when I’ve just had a manicure.” She inspects her nails, affecting a pout. “The trigger finger always suffers.”

 

Bruce scowls. “Not funny.”

 

“Lighten up, Beefcake.” Jack grins. “It’s a little funny.”

 

“It’s Bruce,” he snaps, tugging at his hair, and River stares at the device around his wrist. Well, that’s new. “And you could be a little less encouraging, you know. She hardly needs the -”

 

“Bruce, what are you wearing?”

 

“What? Oh.” He drops his hand from his hair and holds it out proudly. “It’s a watch. The Doctor gave it to me. Called a truce.”

 

Jack doesn’t even try to cover his snort.

 

River drops his hand and rolls her eyes, muttering _that_ _arse_ under her breath. “That isn’t a watch, Bruce.”

 

“Of course it is.” Bruce holds his wrist in front of his face, studying it. “Look, it even has this alarm -”

 

River gasps, stumbling from her seat with one hand outstretched and a panicked, “No, don’t -”

 

Bruce disappears in a zap of electricity and a puff of ozone, the air where he’d been crackling in his absence. Frozen in place, River stares at the empty room for a long moment, lips parted in shock. And then Jack starts laughing.

 

The full-bodied, utterly delighted roar of his chuckles startles River from her stunned stupor and she turns on her heel, scowling at him. “Not funny.”

 

Face red and grinning broadly, Jack wipes at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and heaves, “Oh come on, it’s a _little_ funny.”

 

Sighing, River turns on her heel and stalks from the med bay. As she marches down the corridor in search of the Doctor’s study where the sneaking bastard is undoubtedly hiding, she can hear Jack stumbling to follow after her.

 

“River, don’t overreact -”

 

She pays neither him nor the two women and one reptile gathered around the Doctor’s desk any mind, striding into the study and walking right up to her husband. He must sense her presence because his shoulders tense and he turns to look as she reaches him, brow raised questioningly. Seething, River doesn’t say a word. She just slaps him.

 

Clara gasps.

 

Behind her, River hears Jack sigh.

 

Vastra and Jenny exchange a knowing look.

 

Flexing her fingers, River only has eyes for the Doctor. Something dark and unsavory flares low in her belly, far too enjoyable to be anything like guilt. That had felt… good. Almost normal for them. Despite the years, despite her anger and wounded hearts, she has missed him. She’s even missed being angry with him – that outraged pout when she slapped him, those wide _what did I do?_ eyes.

 

This Doctor doesn’t pout. He outright glowers, jaw clenched as his cool blue gaze burns right through her. His cheek is red and undoubtedly stinging. His pupils are dilated, making his eyes look darker, and if River didn’t know better, she’d say he’d enjoyed that just as much as she did. “My ears aren’t ringing,” he muses dryly, snapping her from her quiet study of this new face. “You’re losing your touch, dear.”

 

They both flinch at the endearment but River steels herself. “Where did you send him?”

 

The Doctor widens his eyes, blinking at her. “Send who?”

 

Ordinarily, this would be the moment she snagged him by the bowtie and squeezed until he squeaked but this Doctor has no such weakness so she narrows her eyes and seethes, “Do not play innocent with me, old man-”

 

The Doctor makes a choked, insulted noise. “ _Old_? I -”

 

River pokes him hard in the chest. “You gave him a vortex manipulator and told him it was a watch!”

 

His lips curl up, eyes crinkling with amusement before he can stop himself. “That thing might as well be a watch. Bloody useless piece of time travel.”

 

“Clearly not because he’s gone,” she snaps. “And I need to know where.”

 

“Gone?” The Doctor furrows his brow and River wants to hit him again. She clenches her hands into fists and crosses her arms over her chest just to muscle down the urge. “You let a twenty-first century human travel through time with a manipulator all by himself on the first go?” He tsks disapprovingly and River swallows back a scream. “Bit irresponsible, Professor.”

 

“I didn’t _let_ him!” Everyone in the room but the Doctor flinches away from the sheer venom in her voice. “You manipulated him and I -”

 

Oh hell, what is she doing?

 

Arguing with the Doctor like it’s a bloody pastime while Bruce is just… gone. Bruce, her friend for the last six months and yes, perhaps he’d waited around hoping for more but he’d never pushed her. He’d come on this trip because she asked him to, because she was selfish. And now he’s lost, zapped to gods know where and he might not even be in one place. He’s never traveled by manipulator before. He could be in pieces, scattered across the universe. River feels her hearts climb into her throat in unadulterated panic.

 

Deciding slapping the Doctor again will be nothing but a waste of time, River turns from him and begins to stalk from the room with a muttered, “I have to track him down. He could be anywhere.”

 

“Yes, so let the TARDIS do it.” A hand closes around her wrist and while it’s still a relatively unfamiliar hand to her, River would recognize his touch anywhere. She turns to glare at him, wrenching her wrist from his grip. “It’ll take a few minutes for her to locate him and we need you here. Human eyes, the lot of them. Inferior.”

 

Vastra hisses.

 

He huffs. “And reptile. Still inferior.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, River sees Jenny lay a hand on Vastra’s wrist, patting gently. Smirking despite herself, she says, “What do you need my eyes for?”

 

“You’ll stay?”

 

“Just until the TARDIS locates Bruce. I can’t leave him, Doctor.”

 

“Of course not.” He turns abruptly from her, hands clasped tight behind his back.

 

“What are we looking for again?” Clara mutters, gazing over Vastra’s shoulder at the painting. “And why did we have to steal this thing in the first place?”

 

“There’s a theory,” the Doctor begins brusquely, eyeing them all in turn. River notices with a pang that he doesn’t quite meet her eyes, studying a curl of her hair instead. She swallows and tells herself it doesn’t hurt, forcing herself to pay attention. “That the key to unlocking Gallifrey’s location is contained within this painting.”

 

“An actual key?”

 

River glances at Jack as he moves to stand beside her, biting her lip when he winks.

 

The Doctor turns on him with a scowl. “Of course not an actual key, idiot. What would a key be doing inside a painting?”

 

He returns his attention to the painting with a mutter of _fucking_ _Americans_ and River presses her face into Jack’s bicep to hide her smile. “Must you antagonize him?” She murmurs.

 

“It’s so much fun,” he whispers back, grinning. “I think it’s the eyebrows.”

 

The Doctor clears his throat with a pointed glower in their direction, one that softens just a bit when it lands on River. She freezes, her throat suddenly tight as their eyes meet. Gods, she misses him. He’s right in front of her but he might as well be still running through the stars for all the good it does her. He’s still so far away.

 

“I don’t see anything, Doctor,” Clara says, squinting at the painting spread across his desk.

 

He coughs, blinking as he turns away again.

 

River releases a long, slow breath, conscious of Jack’s steadying hand at her elbow. “Perhaps we aren’t supposed to see it.” The Doctor doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the painting, but his inquisitive eyebrow is encouragement enough. “This painting has been displayed in countless museums over the centuries and subject to any number of critics and scholars. Time Lords wouldn’t want just anyone to be able to locate Gallifrey.”

 

The Doctor nods slowly, lips twisting in a smile – that small, proud one River would have done just about anything to see when she was young. “I’m assuming you have a suggestion then.”

 

River thinks for a moment. “Take the painting to the lab. I’ll meet you there.”


	4. i'll bow out of place to save you some space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It looks exactly the way she had left it. Not even the papers on her desk have been put away, all of her notes and scribbles and research left to gather dust. They’ve all yellowed with age and some of them look so brittle she doesn’t dare touch them. It’s disheartening to be faced with a very real visual example of just how long she has been gone from the Doctor’s perspective. River swallows. No wonder he doesn’t want her. It’s been centuries for him. He mourned her and he moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gallifrey is Waldo and the Doctor and River are dumb. 
> 
> Chapter title from Manhattan by Sara Bareilles

_“He treats me like a woman.”_

_“Oh he does, does he? How did I treat you? Like a water-buffalo?”_

 

It takes her longer than it should to find her old study but the Doctor must have buried it deep in the TARDIS ages ago. She wonders which him had been the one to put away her things – the younger Doctor who had loved her and grieved her, or this one, who could barely look her in the eye. It isn’t a helpful train of thought so River shoves it aside and focuses on prying open the door to her study once she finds it. Even the door handle is dusty and when she finally manages to kick it open and step inside, dust whirls in the air at the rude intrusion and River coughs, waving a hand in front of her face.

 

Fumbling for a light switch, she glances around the room. It looks exactly the way she had left it. Not even the papers on her desk have been put away, all of her notes and scribbles and research left to gather dust. They’ve all yellowed with age and some of them look so brittle she doesn’t dare touch them. It’s disheartening to be faced with a very real visual example of just how long she has been gone from the Doctor’s perspective. River swallows. No wonder he doesn’t want her. It’s been centuries for him. He mourned her and he moved on.

 

She blinks moisture from her eyes, tells herself it’s just the dust, and moves to the knapsack still sitting in the corner. She wipes the age from the creaking leather bag and hefts it up onto the desk, disturbing more dust in the process. A quick rummage reveals just what she’s looking for – her favorite roll kit and a handy little mixture she’d concocted for those tricky American government documents. They like to hide things, the Americans. Maps on national treasures and secret codes on dollar bills, like children playing a history-wide game of Where’s Waldo.

 

Grasping both items and tucking them under her arm, River leaves the knapsack on the desk and leaves the tomb that had once been her study, shutting the door behind her. She carries everything with her to the lab, faintly amused when the Doctor glances up with an impatient huff.

 

“Thought you’d decided to fetch Bart after all,” he mutters, frowning when Clara nudges him. He watches River set her roll kit and mixture on the table next to the painting. “What is that?”

 

River smacks his wrist when he pokes the small vial, with a glare. _Don’t touch_. “It’s a solution we use in the field sometimes.” She smoothes a hand over the painting and uncaps the vial. “You’d be surprised how many ancient documents contained hidden messages.” She holds out a hand and without prompting, the Doctor presses her favorite brush from her roll kit into her palm. With a murmur of thanks, she dips the brush into the solution and says, “If there’s a message of any kind hidden in this painting, it should be in the bottom right corner, where the artist’s signature would typically be.”

 

“Right,” the Doctor says, staring sightlessly at the painting of Arcadia burning. “Go on then.”

 

With a careful stroke of the brush, River paints a thin layer of the clear mixture over the bottom right corner. It feels as if every single person gathered around the table holds their breath at the same moment. Vastra and Jenny clutch hands, staring raptly. Clara touches the Doctor’s arm, her gaze darting between his blank face and the rapidly drying mixture. Jack peers over River’s shoulder, not even breathing.

 

The bottom right corner reveals nothing.

 

River licks her lips, glancing at the Doctor. “We need heat.”

 

He tightens his jaw, eyes still locked on the painting, and nods once.

 

Without another word, they both lean in and blow softly across the canvas. River’s hair brushes his jaw and when she breathes in, she can smell the coffee on his breath. The Doctor looks at her, lips still pursed, and for a moment, she forgets where they are. She stays frozen in place, fingers curled around the edge of the table, hovering over the painting, gazing into icy blue eyes that somehow manage to warm every single time he looks at her, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

 

A soft gasp shatters the moment and River fights back the inexplicable urge to blush, leaning away from the painting and clearing her throat. “What is that?” Clara asks, and she realizes the girl must have been the one to gasp. “Is that – Doctor, is that your language?”

 

River blinks, turning to look at the painting, mortified that she had been so busy staring at the Doctor that she hadn’t even checked the painting. Sure enough, in the bottom right corner is a series of circular Gallifreyan numbers and letters in faint golden paint, nearly as glowing and alive as the rest of the painting. “Coordinates,” she breathes. “They’re coordinates.”

 

“Doctor?”

 

River glances up at Clara’s soft question and finds the Doctor gaping at the painting, looking just as stunned as everyone else. Silly man hadn’t even let himself believe it would work, she thinks fondly. He blinks rapidly and clears his throat, looking down at his companion. “What? Oh, yes. Gallifreyan.”

 

Clara smiles brilliantly at him. “It actually worked. I was beginning to think you were just mad. Well, more mad.”

 

The Doctor doesn’t answer her and he looks so pale under all that Scottish bravado and the animated brows that for a moment, River wonders if he might faint. She opens her mouth to ask him what the matter is, though part of her already knows, but she remembers that she isn’t his confidant any longer. He hasn’t told her his secrets in centuries. She swallows the concern and looks away.

 

“Why?”

 

The sound of his voice startles everyone but River, who is surprised to find his gaze settled directly on her. “Why what?”

 

“Why would anyone put coordinates in that painting?”

 

She stares at him, frowning. “You talk as if you hadn’t expected them to be there.”

 

He looks away with a scowl, shoulders tense. “Of course I expected them to be there. You think I brought you along for nothing?”

 

Lounging against the table, Jack coughs.

 

The Doctor glowers at him, receiving nothing but a raised eyebrow in reply. “I meant _who,_ not why.” He gestures angrily to the painting spread out before them. “I’m the only one left. Who would bother painting those for _me_?”

 

With an ache in her chest, River says softly, “You still have friends on Gallifrey, my l- Doctor.” She refuses to look at him, silently scolding herself for the near-slip. Old habits and all that. “Maybe they wanted you to find it. Maybe they wanted you to rescue them from obscurity and come home.”

 

“Home,” he mutters, still looking perplexed as he turns to stare at the painting again.

 

River stares at his profile, overcome with a painful memory – lying in bed with his younger self, stroking her fingers through his hair as he talked of Gallifrey, of never being able to go home.

 

He’d looked at her, eyes soft. _“And then you showed up.”_

 

_“I’m only half Gallifreyan, sweetie. It doesn’t even really count.”_

 

_“No, that’s – that’s not what I meant. I thought I’d never find_ home _, River.”_

 

She’d frozen, fingers tangled in his hair, tears welling in her eyes.

 

The Doctor had smiled, nuzzling his face into her palm. _“You’re home now.”_

 

Blinking away the memory, River sets her jaw in grim determination. No sentimental reminiscing. It’s hardly going to help matters now. She will help the Doctor find Gallifrey and then she needs to get as far from him as she possibly can to nurse her wounded hearts.

 

“These are earth coordinates.”

 

River watches the Doctor stroke a fingertip over the Gallifreyan writing and frowns, leaning in to read them again. He’s right. “Why earth?”

 

He shrugs, glancing at her with a little smile that she feels all the way down to the tips of her toes. “Only one way to find out.”

 

Around them, the TARDIS gives a triumphant little hum and at once, the Doctor’s smile disappears. River glances overhead, her stomach churning in relief and dread. The Old Girl has located Bruce.

 

-

 

“Siberia,” River snaps, hauling another blanket from the cupboard. “You sent him to bloody Siberia!”

 

“I didn’t send him anywhere,” the Doctor growls. He sputters when River shoves another blanket into his arms and subsequently smacks him in the face with it. “It’s not my fault you had the bloody thing set for the frozen tundra! And what kind of an idiot doesn’t know how to build a fire to keep warm? How can you even stand to be with someone stupid enough to get hypothermia? It’s beneath you, River.”

 

“Says the man who once regenerated because he tripped!” She grits her teeth and rummages in the cupboard, hoping to find a hat and gloves. Possibly a scarf. She knows he still has that horrible multi-colored monstrosity lying around somewhere. Anything to warm poor Barry – _Bruce_. Damn it. Now he’s got her doing it.

 

“It was more complicated than that and you know it.” The Doctor reaches over her head and snatches a knitted cap from a shelf, shoving it at her. “And people shot by Hitler have no room to criticize.”

 

“Children?” They both turn to find Clara standing behind them, tapping her foot. “Can we save the competition about who is better at dying for later? We’ve got a man in danger of losing some fingers.”

 

“What does he even need them for,” the Doctor mutters, turning away with a scowl. “Certainly not using them for anything useful. Like fire-building.”

 

Rolling her eyes, River shuts the cupboard and asks Clara, “Find the hot water bottles?”

 

“Six of them,” she says with a proud smile. “I tucked them into his bed and left him with Vastra. We’re just waiting on more blankets.”

 

“Got them.” Without looking, River holds out her hands and the Doctor dumps all of the blankets into her arms with a grumble. “How’s he doing?”

 

As Clara turns and begins to make her way swiftly down the corridor, trusting them to follow, she says, “Cold, obviously. Bit disoriented because of y’know, the whole time travel without a time machine thing. But otherwise just peachy.”

 

“Splendid.” The Doctor trails behind them, sounding bored. “Toss him a blanket and let’s get back to work.” River turns to stare at him incredulously and he huffs. “What? Haven’t I waited long enough?”

 

“A few more minutes won’t kill you then.” She knows her tone is too harsh and she understands better than anyone his impatience but she is at a loss with this new Doctor, without her pet names for him and the gentle touches he would no longer welcome. It’s been a very long time since she was nothing more than the Doctor’s friend and even then, they had both known it would never remain that way. She feels adrift, staring at this man she knows and yet does not know at all. This man she still loves despite everything. It makes her defensive, makes her snap at him when she is just as eager as he is to find Gallifrey.

 

She turns away from him again and walks quickly to catch up with Clara, listening to his clipped footsteps behind her. She follows Clara into the bedroom they had dragged Bruce into when they’d stumbled out of the TARDIS and found him curled up in the snow, the vortex manipulator short-circuited and sparking on his wrist. He’s lying on the bed now, surrounded by Vastra and Jenny and the unmistakable scent of tea. He’s shivering and pale, his hair still a little damp. His eyes, however, are bright and unfocused. River stops in the doorway, allowing Jack to take the bundle of blankets from her and hustle them to the bed, draping them over Bruce.

 

“River!” Bruce grins at her, his smile just a touch lopsided.

 

She eyes him warily, inching a little closer. “Hello. How are you feeling?”

 

“Marvelous.” He turns his smile on Jack, snuggling into the blanket the other man has just covered him with. “Warm…” He blinks at Jack. “Your jaw is very pretty.”

 

Jack grins.

 

Behind her, the Doctor coughs in a poor attempt to cover a snort of laughter.

 

Just muscling down the urge to violently elbow him, River crosses the room in two quick strides, overcome with a sneaking suspicion. She snatches up the teacup on the bedside table and sniffs its contents, gasping. “You gave him a soporific?” She turns on Vastra, incredulous. “What were you thinking?”

 

Vastra blinks at her. “I thought he might like to rest.”

 

“And some chamomile wouldn’t do the trick?” River growls and settles onto the edge of the bed. Bruce beams at her. She huffs, taking his face in her hands. His skin is ice cold against her palms but she ignores it, leaning close to study his dilated pupils. “Bruce, how do you feel? How many fingers -”

 

He slumps forward, forehead against her shoulder, and snores.

 

“Well.” The Doctor clears his throat. “Anyone up for another trip?”

 

-

 

Familiar with the effects soporifics can have – particularly on humans – Vastra volunteers to stay with Bruce and not entirely sure she won’t use the time alone with him to do a little innocent experimentation with more tea, River charges Jack with keeping Bruce from another unfortunate mishap in her absence. Which is how she finds herself stepping out of the TARDIS once again and staring around her with quiet awe. It isn’t the red dust of Gallifrey but she can’t quite bring herself to be disappointed.

 

“The library of Alexandria.”

 

She turns in a slow circle, smiling at stacks upon stacks of priceless scrolls. She’d always meant to come here but it was something she’d put off, waiting for the right moment. Then she was dead for a bit, which sort of put a damper on all her travel plans. And now here she is, breathing in history once again. The archaeologist within her is doing a giddy little dance but she manages to rein in her schoolgirl urge to clap her hands and run about gathering everything she can carry. Even her time in the data core could not squash her love of the written word, though it had certainly done a number on her fondness for computers.

 

“Why would the Time Lords want to lead you here?”

 

“No idea.” The Doctor doesn’t look around, only watches River and Clara and Jenny as they admire the endless scrolls and books of soon to be lost literature, the towering shelves and ancient inscriptions in the stone walls, all of it lit up in the warm glow of burning torches. River feels positively tingly with the history of it all but the Doctor appears unaffected, hands in his pockets and lips thinned into a tight line. “Suppose we should have a look around.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Jenny stares at around her. “It’ll take ages. And you don’t even know what you’re looking for. Like a needle in a bleedin’ haystack, it is.”

 

The Doctor scowls. “Anything Gallifreyan might be a clue.”

 

Jenny eyes him, unimpressed.

 

“Well.” Clara shrugs her shoulders with a little grin, excited to begin. Not one for sitting around, this girl, River muses. He always picks the best. “We should probably split up, yeah? If we ever want to find anything.” With a curt nod, The Doctor takes a step toward his companion but before River can decide if she’s relieved or disappointed, Clara latches onto Jenny’s arm and starts dragging her away. “We’ll go this way!”

 

Shaking her head, River decides perhaps the TARDIS had been right about her. Conniving little wench, that one, she thinks fondly. Without glancing at the Doctor, she says, “Right then. Shall we?”

 

“Ladies first.” The Doctor does his best not to look at her too, gesturing blindly ahead.

 

Stepping around him, River turns to the nearest shelf of papyrus scrolls and begins to peruse them without touching, the very thought soiling any of these unthinkable. She wonders if the Doctor would notice if she stuffed a few of them into her bag and if he did notice, if he would bother saying anything. At the moment, he’s doing a spectacular job of pretending she isn’t here. He keeps to his side of the aisle, scanning the books and scrolls on those shelves, his back to her.

 

It’s as if he doesn’t want to get close enough to touch her even accidentally and River stares at the back of his head, frozen with the memory of his younger self and his complete lack of boundaries. He always hovered at her side, letting his hand brush hers, bopping her on the nose with a silly grin, taking her hand, pressing a smacking kiss to her cheek. The contrast between them, between the one who’d loved her and the one who doesn’t, is staggering enough to make her eyes sting.

 

About to turn away and begin her search again, she finally notices something peculiar. It isn’t just her the Doctor is trying to avoid. He looks as if he wants to avoid his very surroundings. He moves like a hunted animal, hesitant and skittish, barely skimming the scrolls as he moves quickly along.

 

She frowns at him. “Doctor, what is it? What’s wrong?”

 

He stiffens, barely glancing at her over his shoulder. “Nothing.”

 

River nods once sadly and turns away. It was stupid to ask. She’s hardly his secret keeper any longer. Perhaps he’ll tell Clara later. She hopes he does. It won’t do for him to keep everything to himself.

 

The Doctor sighs and she turns at the sound, watching his shoulders slouch as he bites out, “I just hate libraries.”

 

She softens, leaning against the heavy stone pillar at her back, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I don’t.”

 

He doesn’t look at her but she sees him struggling against the urge, sees his jaw tick and his eyes skitter briefly along the floor to rest at her boots. “Then why did you leave?”

 

“Even paradise is dull after a few centuries,” she explains with a soft smile. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a lovely vacation, honey.” They both wince at the name and River bites her lip, cursing herself. Well, nothing but to go forward like she’d meant to say it. She continues breezily, tossing her hair. “It was either break out or mutate into a virus just to make things interesting again. I couldn’t do that to CAL and you certainly weren’t going to come to my rescue so I started spending my time looking for a way out.”

 

She hears him swallow and watches him glare at a carving in the shelves. “I didn’t think there was a way.”

 

“There wasn’t,” she says, shrugging. “Not from the outside at least. You’d be amazed what you can accomplish from inside the largest data base in the universe.”

 

The Doctor nods and her breath catches when he turns to face her, startled by the depth of feeling in his blue eyes. He exhales slowly, unclenching his teeth. “So much has happened since… I wanted to tell you. Everything is different – I’m – the Master is the Mistress now and she’s back. Danny is dead. I’ve needed -” He sighs through his nose, his eyes shutting briefly. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here.”

 

River blinks, forcing away the tears as she turns swiftly back to the shelves. “Thank you, sweetie,” she breathes. “So am I.”

 

For a while, they search the shelves in companionable silence. River feels like she can breathe again. It’s enough to know that he doesn’t hate her, that he doesn’t wish she had never returned at all. He cares for her still, perhaps because of who she was, because she had belonged to his Ponds, because she was as close to Gallifreyan as he had known for centuries. He doesn’t even need that now that the Master has returned, flitting in and out of his life and bringing trouble with her. He doesn’t love River like a husband, not any more, but this will be enough. She’ll make sure of it.

 

Putting all of her focus into finding whatever it is the Time Lords wanted them to see, she almost misses his quiet question. “Why earth?”

 

She pauses in the middle of searching a collection of scrolls all bundled together with a thin scrap of leather, inspecting the broken seals. He’s watching her and she both loves and hates the way he looks at her now, like he doesn’t think he deserves to. “That’s what we’re here to find out. I suppose it could be -”

 

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “You left Luna. Why?”

 

She swallows. “I stayed for a while. I thought it might be easier for you to find me.” She sighs when he flinches. “After a time, it became too painful to stay there so I left. I went to earth, forged some credentials and got a job at Oxford.”

 

The Doctor looks away, brows knitting together. She watches his jaw clench. “And then you met _him_.”

 

It isn’t a question so she doesn’t bother answering him, far too interested in the intricate way his face works now. His last self had such an expressive face, every emotion playing out so obviously across his features. She could read him like a child’s favorite book. This one is subtler but the smallest details – a quick blink, a twitch of his mouth, a raised eyebrow – say so very much. She likes it, likes the way his darling new face is like a message to be decoded if only he would let her close enough to study it.

 

He sighs and the sound is so weary that River tenses, watching him closely. “What are you going to do? Settle down with that ninny Benedict and have his idiot children?”

 

The very thought makes her shudder but she wouldn’t dare let him see. “What if I did? You’ve made it perfectly clear you’ve no interest in marriage any longer.”

 

The Doctor scoffs, lifting an eyebrow. “I think you did that when you got a boyfriend, dear.”

 

She growls. “You said -”

 

“This isn’t you,” he interrupts with a savage shake of his head. He takes a step toward her and River is so startled after his valiant struggle to stay away from her that she stumbles back, colliding with the shelf behind her. He rakes a hand through gray curls and she watches frustration cloud his eyes, listens as his accent gets thicker in his irritation. “We’re not together, fine. But for fuck’s sake, I know you, River. I would know you any time, any place, anywhere and River bloody Song doesn’t settle – and certainly not for an average numpty like Basil Baldfeathers!”

 

River stares at him, speechless. So that’s what has been bothering him. Not that she’s with someone but that who she’s with isn’t good enough. It makes her hearts ache in all the best and the worst ways and she struggles to find something to say. It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it had all been a lie, that Bruce was never anything but a friend she had used to make him jealous, a plan that so spectacularly backfired she’s still picking up the pieces. Looking into desperate, furious blue eyes, she opens her mouth to confess everything.

 

“Doctor! River!” They jump like guilty children though they’re still several paces apart, turning to look down the dim corridor. Clara races toward them, Jenny on her heels. Smiling brightly, she waves a scroll over her head. “I think I found something!”

 

The Doctor and River glance at each other, sharing a smile touched with the smallest amount of childish glee. Slightly out of breath, Clara reaches them and thrusts the scroll under River’s nose. Taking it from her and sparing a moment to pat the girl fondly, River glances down at the scroll and promptly loses her breath. Hearts skipping a beat, she shuffles closer to the Doctor until their shoulders touch and she can smell the scent of time and coffee beans, hear his own breathing hitch.

 

Smoothing careful fingertips over the unbroken seal of Rassilon, River says, “Well Doctor, I believe you’ve got mail.”

 

-

 

Blond hair. Eyelashes long enough to make some women weep. A strong jaw and healthy pink stained cheeks. There is no denying Bruce Baldwin is a very pretty man. But, Jack muses, chin in hand as he watches the other man sleep the sleep of the drugged, pretty has never been River’s type. He doesn’t think she even has a type. Mels had had a type. River’s type is simply whatever face her husband happens to be wearing.

 

Jack, on the other hand, does have a type. It just so happens that almost everyone fits it – including Bruce. Lucky for him. It’ll make this easier. A pleasure, really. “How long before he wakes up?”

 

Vastra looks up from her silent vigil, her eyes guilty. “Not long. I didn’t give him much.”

 

“No but you gave him just enough.” Jack smirks, wondering if Vastra would be blushing right now if she were capable. “She was pretty pissed at you.”

 

“I do not blame her.” From the other side of the bed, Vastra reaches out a hand and presses it to Bruce’s forehead, checking his temperature. “But there is an unfortunate tendency for collateral damage in matters of love and war.”

 

Jack snorts. “Which one is this?”

 

Apparently satisfied with Bruce’s body temperature, Vastra withdraws her hand and returns it to her lap. She eyes Jack with that quiet amusement that always draws feelings of unease from him – it makes him feel like a monkey at the zoo, doing tricks behind the glass for her entertainment. “Both, I’d expect. The line is rather thin.”

 

Sighing, Jack says, “I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

 

“Ordinarily, I would be inclined to say you give him too much credit but…” Vastra trails off, watching Bruce’s eyelids flutter.

 

“But?”

 

She slowly meets his gaze. “He’s remarkably focused in this regeneration. Always something up his sleeve – like a magician.”

 

“Explains the coat,” Jack mutters, holding up his hands when Vastra offers him a quelling look.

 

“Imagine that focus directed on one person. The person he thought he’d lost but never stopped missing, never stopped hoping would be returned to him. The person now just out of his reach but within his grasp.” Vastra smiles as Bruce begins to stir. “Yes, I dare say the Doctor knows exactly what he’s doing.”

 

“River?”

 

Jack smirks, brushing Bruce’s hair from his eyes with gentle fingers. “Afraid not, Beefcake. Just little ol’ me.”

 

Bruce blinks groggily up at him. “The pretty one.”

 

Grinning broadly, Jack says, “Am I?” He glances at Vastra, who looks exasperated. “I think I hear them. Go see what they’ve found – I’ve got it from here.”

 

Looking at him like an amusing monkey again, Vastra rises gracefully to her feet and glances between Jack and Bruce. “It certainly appears that way.”

 

Jack waves her out with a roll of his eyes, turning back to Bruce. His smile winning, he presses a hand to his shoulder to keep him from sitting up and asks, “You were saying?”

 

-

 

“It’s Gallifreyan technology,” the Doctor explains as he throws a lever and sends the TARDIS into the vortex. “Designed only to be opened by a true Time Lord. Couldn’t have the right information falling into the wrong hands.”

 

Standing with Clara and Jenny on the other side of the console, River watches him draw in a deep breath. His hand trembles as he reaches for the scroll and presses his thumb into the seal, giving it his fingerprint. After a moment in which River scarcely breathes, the seal breaks.

 

The Doctor’s lips twitch into a faint smile as he withdraws his thumb and unrolls the papyrus to scan the message inside. Squeezing Clara’s arm gently when the girl draws breath to speak, River inches around the console and approaches slowly as the Doctor’s smile fades. He pales, licking his lips, and reads the message again.

 

“Doctor?”

 

He swallows, handing the scroll to her without a word.

 

With a concerned glance at him, River drops her gaze to the parchment in her hand. It’s written in Old High Gallifreyan but he’d taught her how to read it while she was still in University. The first line is enough to make her hearts skip a beat. It’s a letter – addressed to the Doctor.

 

_Theta_.

 

It’s only a nickname but it’s something not everyone knows about him, at least not anymore. It’s a name River used occasionally during their marriage, sometimes just to see him smile and other times because she needed him to pay attention. Nothing could draw him from a funk and get him to look at her and to listen to her quite like that name.

 

“River?” Clara peers over her shoulder at the message, frowning. “What does it say?”

 

It’s a simple message but River struggles to find the right words in the limited vocabulary English provides. She clears her throat, glancing over the words again. “Essentially, it asks for the Doctor to come home. With coordinates.”

 

Clara takes the paper when River hands it to her, her brow furrowed. “Is it signed?”

 

“Yes,” River says, and explains no further, watching the Doctor input new coordinates with a shaking hand. “Doctor?”

 

He glances up, wild-eyed and flushed. “Hmm?”

 

“Are you sure you can trust them?”

 

“Nope.” He lands the TARDIS with a flourish and River stands perfectly still as Clara and Jenny scramble to find something to hold onto, the ship shuddering around them.

 

She sighs through her nose, offering him a withering look as she turns and starts for the stairs. “Then at least let me get a few things from the armory – you didn’t delete it, did you? – and I’ll check on Bruce while I’m -”

 

The Doctor grabs her hand when she reaches the stairs and River stops moving out of pure shock, turning to stare at him. He’s staring too, his eyes fastened on their joined hands like he cannot for the life of him understand why their fingers are currently laced so tightly together or perhaps he’s wondering why after all this time, they still fit so well. Or perhaps that’s just River.

 

She clears her throat. “Doctor -”

 

“There’s no time for you to play nurse maid, River,” he says, letting go. “And my people won’t take kindly to your bloody phallic symbols.”

 

She frowns, bristling. “Well if you’ll be too embarrassed by your assassin ex-wife, I could just wait here.”

 

He recoils so violently that he catches even Clara and Jenny’s attention across the room. They stare at him, watching as he huffs and clenches his teeth. “I didn’t say that. Don’t put bloody words in my mouth.”

 

River settles a hand on her hip, glaring. “What _are_ you trying to say then, Doctor?”

 

“I’m saying,” he snaps, snatching up her hand again. “The only person I want beside me when I step out of this TARDIS is you so Bernard is just going to have to _wait_.”

 

Too startled by both his vehemence and his honesty, River follows when he tugs on her hand and barely has time to offer Clara – busy hiding a grin in the palm of her hand – a glower of reproach. “I’ll check on Bruce for you,” she calls after them. “Say hello to the Time Lords for me. Oi, and make good choices!”

 

“I hate her,” River grumbles as the doors shut behind them.

 

The Doctor doesn’t answer but his fingers tighten around her own and she looks up with a smile, expecting to see the silver trees he always spoke of, the red grass and the green forests, the deserts of the outlying lands. She expects to see the Doctor’s home planet and him looking out over it with all of those complicated emotions playing across his older but equally ridiculous face. Once again, she’s disappointed.

 

Finding herself staring down the pointy end of a sword, River glances at the Doctor with a scornful, “And I hate you too.”

 

“Do not.” The Doctor sounds far too smug for a man with a knife to his throat but then again, River supposes not everything changes from one man to the next. Of course her husband would keep a tight hold on arrogance. “We’ve had worse, haven’t we?”

 

She lets her eyes drift from one purple-skinned native to the next, all of them snarling and holding various crude but rather effective looking weaponry. The landscape beyond is nothing but rough terrain and heavy forestation, nothing civilized in sight for miles in either direction. She brings her attention back to the rusted sword in the hand of the lavender creature glaring at her and answers, “Not really, no.”

 

“Says the woman who brought an entire murderous Sonataran fleet with her to our anniversary dinner.”

 

“It’s not my fault they chased me to the restaurant!”

 

“You insulted their leader!”

 

“I was trying to be nice!”

 

“You can’t tell a Sontaran you’d like him baked with cheese and bacon bits without expecting to suffer the consequences!” The Doctor growls and River is so thrilled just to be bickering with him like the old married couple they used to be that for a moment, she’s far too busy grinning to remember the danger they’re in. She only remembers when the Doctor stops glaring at her to address the natives with a terse, “What do you want?”

 

“You are the Doctor?”

 

He lifts an eyebrow at them. “Who’s asking?”

 

The man – or rather, River thinks he might possibly be male beneath the fur – waves his knife in the Doctor’s face and she tenses, cursing herself for letting the idiot drag her outside without a weapon. “The Ariden – last remaining tribe of the Planet XY-17.”

 

“Ah.” He sucks on his teeth, his brows furrowing together. “Then no. Never heard of him.”

 

Behind them, the distinctive sound of the TARDIS leaving fills the air and River makes her first mistake. She takes her eye off the enemy. Batting away the sword of the purple man in front of her, she whirls to face the fading ship. The Doctor turns with her, grabbing her hand to keep her from grasping at the door. In the next second, the ship is gone.

 

Startled by their sudden movement, the natives react as one would expect from angry, wary natives – violently. Either her status as female leaves River a non-threat or they _really_ hate the Doctor, because he is their sole target. Knives are raised in tightly clenched purple fists, frightened shouts echo in the empty forests and River doesn’t stop to think. Her training and her hearts take over. She does what she has always done and will always do – she protects him.

 

She steps in front of the Doctor, shielding him from the blade that sinks into her flesh, sliding right between her ribs. She gasps, the flare of pain so sharp it sends her to her knees. She’s had worse – much worse. It’s just a knife wound and she stares blankly straight ahead of her, hands cupping the wound as blood pours from it, slipping through her fingers, wondering why it burns. Thick wet mud coats her trousers but her ears are ringing and her veins feel like they’re on fire, like they’re screaming – no.

 

Her veins aren’t screaming.

 

That’s the Doctor, beside her in the mud, his shaking hands keeping her upright. “River? Buggering hell, River, _look at me_.”

 

She blinks slowly and tries to turn her head but the blood is slippery on her hands and his too now. He’s covered in it, face pale and eyes filled with panic. Such pretty blue eyes, she thinks. Oh gods it _burns_.

 

She bites her lip against a whimper.

 

The Doctor swears violently, snarling at a native who creeps closer. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

 

River clutches at his coat with a bloodied hand and he shushes her, lips brushing her forehead as he gathers her close and lifts her out of the mud and into his arms. The natives, looking frightened but determined, poke and prod him into following them but River is only vaguely aware of moving at all. Her vision is spotted and narrowing. She feels dizzy and she shuts her eyes, head dropping to the Doctor’s shoulder. “Burns,” she murmurs.

 

“Of course it burns, it’s poison you stupid, embarrassing _idiot_ ,” he snarls, and she wonders if she’s imagining the tremor in his voice just like she’s imagining the fire raging beneath her skin. “They coat their blades with it. Designed to stop the heart. Or hearts, in this case. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

 

Her tongue feels too thick to form sentences and all that comes out is a garbled, “Safe. You.”

 

The Doctor sighs shakily, cradling her tightly against his chest, and River breathes him in, desperate to focus on anything but the sensation of poison eating its acidic way toward her hearts. He smells different but somehow he still smells like home. It hurts more than the fire ever could.


	5. taking every step to steal your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light, golden and warm, bursts behind her eyelids and for a moment, the only thing that comes to mind is that verse in the Christian scriptures about all darkness banished from the heavens. She’s dead then. Properly this time.
> 
> “This doesn’t change anything, you know.”
> 
> Funny, she’d never imagined God as a Scottish woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Missy finally makes an appearance and the Doctor’s master plan (*snort*) is finally revealed.
> 
> Final chapter! I hope it's satisfactory and as ridiculous as the rest of this silly fic:)
> 
> Chapter title from Steal Your Heart by Augustana.

_“I only acted like a husband that didn’t want to see his home broken up.”_

_“What home?”_

_“What home? Don’t you remember the home I promised you?”_

 

Light, golden and warm, bursts behind her eyelids and for a moment, the only thing that comes to mind is that verse in the Christian scriptures about all darkness banished from the heavens. She’s dead then. Properly this time.

 

“This doesn’t change anything, you know.”

 

Funny, she’d never imagined God as a Scottish woman.

 

“Of course not. What’s a little life-saving between enemies?”

 

“You left me on Skaro. I could kill her right now. Open the wound and let her bleed out – make you watch the life drain from her weepy little eyes -”

 

“But you won’t.”

 

“Only because I find your angst dull.” Soft, feminine hands stroke River’s hair back from her face and then she hears a thoughtful hum. “Not hideous, I suppose. Hair is tragic. You know, if you let this one die we could probably find a better one. And now that you’ve found home, she’s not exactly important-”

 

“She’s important to me. Now shut up and hold her still.”

 

The Scottish woman sighs, muttering under her breath, “Thank you, Missy. I’m forever indebted to you, Missy -”

 

_Missy_.

 

The Doctor’s words in the Library of Alexandria come flooding back to her and River’s eyes fly open, a gasp rattling in her throat. Her head is in the lap of a dark-haired woman in a purple skirt and coat. She finds herself staring at the antique brooch clasped at her throat. The Doctor hovers over her, blood smeared on his pale cheek, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. He leans back and stares at her, his hands still glowing with regeneration energy. Not dead then.

 

Missy sighs, as though bored. “Not for lack of trying, dear. We’ve stopped the poison but you’re still bleeding like a stuck pig so hold still like a good girl -”

 

River scrambles to sit up and get away from the madwoman holding her. The sudden movement makes the wound ache all over again and she hisses out a breath through her teeth, slapping the Doctor’s hands away when he tries to help her. “No more.”

 

“Why the bloody hell not? I’m hardly on my last life any more!”

 

Tugging her shirt back down over her stomach, River lifts her chin stubbornly and doesn’t reply. What could she say? That it reminds her too much of Berlin and Manhattan, of two people who would do anything to save the other from death or even a broken bone? That it aches to know she’ll never have that love again? She can feel his life force humming through her veins like the best kind of high. They’re connected again, in the most intimate of Time Lord acts. Doesn’t he realize what he’s done?

 

Instead, she looks away and toward the woman in the corner watching them with interest. “What is she doing here?”

 

“I sent for her,” he says tersely. “Thought I might need a bit of backup with my – with you fatally injured and a bit useless. Besides, we’re going to Gallifrey, aren’t we? She’d scratch my eyes out if I left her behind.”

 

“Too right.” Missy nods once, smiling.

 

River watches in odd fascination as the woman leans her head against the wall of their cage and proceeds to ignore them entirely, humming quietly to herself. So this bizarre creature is the Master now. She stares as the woman wiggles her toes in her antique, high-heeled little boots, and feels a reluctant, tired smile curling her lips. Well, it’s certainly an improvement over the last one. Under her breath, she asks, “Can we trust her?”

 

“I know the way to Gallifrey. She’ll behave for now.” The Doctor clears his throat. “River, your injury -”

 

“No.”

 

Meeting her hard stare with a look of resigned irritation, he snaps, “At least let me have a look at it.”

 

River eyes him for a moment, ever conscious of the ache in her ribs and the blood still seeping from the wound, before she concedes with a curt nod. “Look but don’t touch, Doctor.”

 

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” he mutters dryly. He yanks her shirt up without preamble or gentleness and River watches him bend his head, studying the wound. With a grumbling sigh, he wrestles out of his coat and she realizes he means to use it to stem the blood flow. Well. At least the red will blend in beautifully with the silk lining. “How do you always manage to get seriously maimed?”

 

“How do _you_ always manage to bugger up the landing so spectacularly?” River counters archly. She leans against their makeshift cage and stares at the crude wooden spikes acting as bars. “I would be impressed if I weren’t bleeding to death.”

 

The Doctor huffs and presses his coat harder against her wound. River hisses and tries to focus on Missy’s increasingly loud, manic humming. “You’re not bleeding to death. Don’t be dramatic.”

 

“Says the man who turned white as a sheet when I jumped in front of a poisoned blade for him,” she mumbles. Even without the poison in her system, the blood loss makes it hard to concentrate. She struggles to stay awake, squinting up at him. “Ungrateful. You’ve regenerated into an ungrateful old man. And you dress like a magician.”

 

“Yes, well.” He purses his lips, staring intently at the wound between her ribs. “It’s a good job we’re not together any more.”

 

Her chest suddenly hurts a hell of a lot more than her ribs. “I didn’t say I didn’t approve.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“River, open your eyes.” She frowns when he pats her cheek, opening her eyes again. “Grumpy magicians are your type, are they?” _He_ is her type, no matter what. Fortunately, she’s still lucid enough to keep that to herself. “Funny, your Mr. Balding doesn’t strike me as the magician sort.”

 

“Baldwin.”

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

“What’s your type now, Doctor? Petite brunettes with massive eyes? Or murderous madwomen in Victorian booties?”

 

“No,” he says simply at the same time Missy lifts her head and scowls.

 

“Oi! Frenemies, half-breed. Don’t dirty it.”

 

“Apologies,” River murmurs, mouth quirking in weary amusement.

 

The Doctor ignores them, peeling back his bloodied coat to check her wound. He grimaces. “Buggering hell. Who asked you to step in front of me? One injury wasn’t enough for you?”

 

She smirks. “Someone has to protect your sorry arse.”

 

“My arse has been getting along just fine for the last few hundred years without using you as a human shield,” he snaps.

 

River flinches from his touch, swatting his hand away to hold his coat in place herself. “Well next time I won’t bother.”

 

“Good,” he retorts, retreating to the opposite side of their cage to glower at her.

 

The moment he sits, Missy kicks him.

 

Rolling her eyes, River decides to ignore them both for the moment and glances around their new prison. It’s on the outskirts of the lush forest but in full view of the primitive village of the Ariden tribe. She wonders how long they’ve been here, nearly extinct and struggling to survive on a planet that isn’t their own. It isn’t the Doctor’s fault, of course. She remembers all too well that he had saved these people from a decaying planet, had ushered them all into his TARDIS and shuttled them somewhere safe and habitable. “Why are they so angry with you? You saved them.”

 

The Doctor shrugs, studying his hands. They’re still covered with her blood and he stares as if in a trance. The blood on his cheek is beginning to dry and flake. River wants to reach out a hand and scrub it away but she wraps her fingers tightly around his coat and doesn’t move.

 

“It isn’t home,” he finally says. “And not everyone wanted to be saved. Some had to leave family behind. Some would rather have died where they lived, died with their children or their loves.” His eyes look far away now and River aches for him, knowing Gallifrey weighs heavy on his mind. He glances up with a hollow smirk. “Let that be a lesson to you, River Song. No good deed goes unpunished.”

 

“ _I’ve_ been trying to teach you that for centuries,” Missy grumbles, pouting.

 

River shifts, reaching out a hand to steady herself with the help of the other woman’s shoulder. Missy looks vaguely affronted but doesn’t shove her away. River takes it as consent and struggles to sit up. “You don’t mean that.”

 

“No, I do.” He watches her climb shakily to her feet, brow furrowed. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing it.”

 

“There’s my Doctor,” she murmurs, before she can stop herself.

 

The Doctor drops his gaze to his hands, tense and distant once more.

 

Gods, she has to stop letting those sorts of endearments slip. She used to be so good at keeping things to herself. She’s out of practice. But even then, she had never tried to stop flirting with him. Not really. How could a girl resist? Unsteady on her feet, River takes his coat and wraps it tightly around her middle, tying it with the sleeves. It isn’t exactly fashion forward but it’ll do its job until she can return to the TARDIS and the med bay.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Getting us out of here, what does it look like?”

 

The Doctor huffs. “Sit down. You’re in no condition to escape and this new body is rubbish at it. Remind me to tell you about sitting in jail with Robin Hood. Actually, don’t. Fucking embarrassing, that was.”

 

“What are we supposed to do?” She leans against the bars of their cage, frowning to cover a grimace. Still a bit sore then. “Wait to see what they’ve got planned for us?”

 

“No, we’re waiting for Clara and the rest of them. They’ll get us out.”

 

“Yes, if the TARDIS ever gets back.”

 

The Doctor doesn’t look at her, grumbling something about _the damned HADS_ acting up again. Missy snorts delicately.

 

River sighs, huffing a curl away from her eyes, and watches the Doctor avoid her gaze. Only a few minutes ago, he’d been cradling her to his chest and snarling at anyone who got too close. Now he can barely look at her. This regeneration has to be the most vexing she has ever met. And she’s met all of them. “You’ve called the murdering psychopath because Gallifrey is her home too. I understand that. But why did you pick up Vastra and Jenny and Jack, Doctor?” She asks softly.

 

He swipes at the blood on his ring and she wonders once more why he wears it, where it came from. She knows so little about this version of her husband and that hurts more than just about anything else. “I needed them.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To find Gallifrey, of course.”

 

“Not to keep a careful distance between yourself and the Missus? You must have been truly desperate to call Jack – you usually avoid him at all cost.” She scowls. “I’m hardly going to molest you. I like my partners _willing_.”

 

Missy mutters something like _amateur_ under her breath. The Doctor ignores her, still gazing at River. “And who said I’m not?”

 

She stares at him, hearts in her throat. “You did.”

 

He scoffs, glancing away. “Well if I said it then it must be true.”

 

_Rule One._

 

River douses the flame of hope that flares in her chest before it can ignite and spread, overtaking her hearts and her head. “If this isn’t about you trying to avoid me then what is it? You’re clearly up to something.”

 

The Doctor closes his eyes. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

 

She scoffs. “You said you’d know me any time, any place, anywhere but you forget, honey, whatever your face looks like and however long it’s been since I’ve seen you, I know you too. I know you better than anyone -”

 

Missy clears her throat pointedly, looking harassed.

 

River glares and reiterates, “Better than _anyone_.” Missy bares her teeth at her. “I know when you’ve got a ridiculous plan in mind, Doctor.”

 

Eyes snapping open and focusing on her, the Doctor sighs loudly, looking exasperated. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I’ve changed? Turned over a new leaf? The emperor has new clothes?” He lifts an eyebrow at her, looking thoroughly disdainful. “I’m not the bowtie-wearing sap you married.”

 

“No, you’re certainly not.” Unwrapping the jacket from around her mid-section, she balls it up and tosses it at him.

 

He catches it, watching as she systematically begins the process of kicking in the crude bars of their cell. Missy joins her readily, always game for a bit of destruction. The Doctor sighs. “What are you doing?”

 

River ignores him but Missy replies, “Escaping, I expect.” She glances over her shoulder at him with a little pout. “This cell? A bit pants. Can’t believe you called me here for this. I’d be insulted if I hadn’t gotten the chance to see your wee darling wife all peaky and bleeding. What a gift. I owe you, honey.”

 

Missy winks at her and River bites back a retort, wondering why it’s so incredibly difficult to hate a woman rejoicing in her misfortune. Perhaps because it’s clear from her tone that she’s trying to get a reaction out of the Doctor. She used to wonder how they could remain friends through everything they’d done to each other but it’s easy to see now with the scene playing out in front of her – no matter what side they’re on, the Doctor and Missy share a past that simply cannot be ignored. It makes things like trying to kill each other occasionally seem trivial. And River understands that only too well – her first date with her husband had ended in murder, after all. Well, and a kiss.

 

Best not think about that now.

 

The Doctor growls under his breath and climbs to his feet, hovering at River’s side. “I know this cell isn’t quite up to Stormcage standards but how do you plan to get past the natives once we’re free? Unless you’ve got a weapon stored in your hair somewhere -”

 

Missy opens her mouth, no doubt to offer up a poisoned hairpin or something equally ridiculous and deadly in her possession but the Doctor offers her a stern, “Hush,” and she falls silent with a heavy sigh and a glare.

 

Feeling a bit like a grownup with two bickering children, River rolls her eyes. “I don’t need a gun. You underestimate me, Doctor.”

 

“Never.” He meets her gaze now, lips twitching in another of those proud little smiles that never fails to make her hearts skip. “What are you thinking?”

 

River looks away determinedly, kicking in the last bar with her boot. Missy picks it up with a gleeful smile, brandishing it in front of her. “Love a pointy stick,” she murmurs, slipping out of the cage. She does a little twirl on the other side, whirling the stick like a baton.

 

River rolls her eyes and follows after her. “I read a little something about the Ariden people once. Promises are sacred in their culture.”

 

The Doctor nods, ducking out of the cell behind them. “Break one and a swift execution follows. What does that have to do with anything?”

 

River smirks. “I’m going to get them to pinky swear.”

 

She moves to follow after Missy toward the village but the Doctor stops her with a hand around her wrist. Turning back to look at him in confusion, River doesn’t get the chance to question him. He tugs sharply and she stumbles into his chest, pressed against the warm and unfamiliar weight of him. Her breath catches and she stares up at him, wide-eyed and wanting, hearts pounding away in her ears. Gazing into her eyes, the Doctor presses a slender hand against her rib cage and River is so undone by the touch, so lost in the blue of his eyes, that she doesn’t notice what he’s done until the glow of regeneration energy fades.

 

He grins at her, dropping his hand and stepping away.

 

Shaken and trembling, River slaps him.

 

He swears, cradling his cheek in his hand as he snaps, “What was that for?”

 

“I said no more,” she hisses. Tears sting her eyes and she doesn’t know if she feels more betrayed by him healing a wound she asked him not to heal or because of the way he’d done it, holding her like she meant something.

 

“You were losing too much blood,” he protests. “And I am not carrying you again. My upper body strength this go round is _pathetic_.”

 

Turning swiftly on her heel before he can see the way her hands shake, River stalks off in the direction Missy had gone and calls over her shoulder, “Follow me.”

 

He does, still rubbing his smarting cheek like a scolded child.

 

River strolls into the middle of the village and considers herself lucky Missy has already caught their attention. Granted, she’d caught their attention by using her pointy stick to stab a native but she’d certainly drawn the attention River needed. At least the wound doesn’t look fatal. Probably. With a faint nod at her that Missy returns with a little smirk and a curtsy, River watches as they’re surrounded once again.

 

The Doctor joins them under duress, hands held up and scowl firmly in place as a native nudges him with the pointy end of his weapon. “What have you done now?”

 

“I’m helping,” Missy snips, baring her teeth at him.

 

With a regretful frown, River eyes the bleeding young man and Missy’s weapon still clutched in her bejeweled fist. “Apologies for the… pointy stick. Only had a bit of a question, you see.”

 

The Ariden exchange puzzled glances. “Yes?”

 

“Your quarrel is with the Doctor alone, yes?”

 

“And this one now.”

 

One of them jabs a weapon at Missy, who narrows her eyes like she’s contemplating another victim. River hurries along before she can make up her mind. “And what about me?”

 

“What is your relation to these two?”

 

“Not quite sure about this one.” River eyes Missy calmly, shrugging. “Something tells me she’s rather like a rabid but beloved family pet nobody has the heart to put down.”

 

Missy gasps, red lips forming a perfect O in her indignation. “ _You’re_ the pet. A wee little mixed breed designer dog he’s convinced me to let him keep -”

 

River presses a quelling hand to the small of her back, enjoying the way the other woman bristles and glares. “Not now, dear. The grownups are talking.”

 

Growing restless, the Ariden leader asks, “And the Doctor? What is your relation to him?”

 

“I’m his ex-wife.” River beams, ignoring the Doctor’s sharp intake of breath behind her. “Which means I don’t like him very much either, as you can imagine.”

 

One of them – one of only a few wearing a beautifully crafted circlet – nods slowly. “Then our quarrel is not with you, big-haired one.”

 

The Doctor coughs, ineffectively hiding a snort.

 

She elbows him. “It’s River, please. And does that mean I’m free to go?”

 

The Doctor gapes at her. “You’re just going to leave us here? What -”

 

One of the natives waves a spear in front of his face threateningly and the Doctor bats it away with a scowl but falls quiet. The Ariden leaders exchange another glance and the one that had spoken before takes a step forward, weapon lowered. “We meant no harm to befall you, River. It was not our intention.”

 

Offering them a warm smile, she nods once. “Thank you.”

 

“We have no wish for any more trouble from your pet.” Missy makes an indignant noise of protest but River nudges her. “You both may go but we have many things still to ask of the Doctor. He must remain.”

 

“Of course.” River exchanges a glance with Missy, who gives a begrudging nod. She follows her gaze and spots the scroll with the seal of Rassilon in the hands of one of the younger tribe members. Though River has only just met Missy, there is one thing on which she has a feeling they will always agree – no one harms the Doctor but them. “We understand. But I won’t leave my possessions here.”

 

The leader frowns, following the line of her gaze to the scroll. “Very well. Take what is yours and go.”

 

River stifles a sly grin. “I have your word that we will have safe passage with what belongs to us?”

 

“On my honor,” the leader says proudly. “You and your belongings will not be harmed.”

 

He gestures to the younger Ariden with the scroll and when he tries to reluctantly hand it back to River, the Doctor reaches around her and snatches it, scowling. “That’s _mine_.”

 

The Ariden leader frowns, looking at River. “Then what is yours?”

 

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked,” she purrs, turning from them.

 

She smiles up at the Doctor, who blinks down at her in confusion. “River, what -”

 

Bending, she wraps her arms around his waist and lifts with her legs, raising the Doctor a few inches off the ground. He gasps in outraged protest and drops the scroll, his hands scrabbling at her back as she turns slowly and offers the Ariden a pleased grin. “Thank you, boys. I’ll be taking what’s mine and going now.”

 

Missy stoops to pick up the scroll and skips along behind them, humming to herself once more as they make their escape. River walks away as quickly as she can. Although fully healed, the wound still aches and the Doctor, slender as he is, is still a hefty weight and he’s struggling on top of it. “River, put me down right this fucking instant -”

 

“You carried me, sweetie,” she says heading toward the line of trees that marks the beginning of the forest. “Turnabout is fair play and all that.”

 

Walking along behind River with her hands behind her back and a grin on her face, Missy leans forward to meet his gaze and says, “When we get home, I’m telling everyone and his grandmother about this.”

 

The Doctor stops struggling, limp as a rag doll over River’s shoulder as he sighs out, “I absolutely cannot _stand_ either one of you.”

 

She bites back an amused grin. “Is that any way to thank your wife and your dearest friend for rescuing you?”

 

He grunts. “It is when my wife throws me over her shoulder like a sodding damsel in distress.”

 

“See?” River clucks her tongue, glancing at Missy. “Tetchy Houdini.”

 

“And he was such a wee sweet girl on Gallifrey,” Missy says with a regretful sigh.

 

The Doctor makes a strangled, angry noise in his throat. “Stop telling people that!”

 

They reach the edge of the forest and River finally feels safe enough to put him down. She can’t carry him through the forest anyway, not stumbling over tree roots and listening to him complain, all with her ribs positively aching. “On foot from here, I think.”

 

The Doctor dusts himself off, glaring. “I’m your possession now, am I?”

 

River raises a challenging brow. “Always have been, sweetie.”

 

Making a gagging noise in the back of her throat, Missy says, “Things are getting a wee bit too human and disgusting. I think I’ll pop out for a bit.” She lifts her wrist and tugs at her sleeve, revealing a vortex manipulator. River gapes, watching the woman input coordinates. “Ta!”

 

“Show off,” the Doctor grumbles as she vanishes, kicking dirt at the place where she’d just been.

 

River whirls on him. “You knew she had that the whole time?”

 

“What if she did?” He asks, turning from her and stalking away. “It’s not as if you could travel using it in your condition.”

 

Struggling to keep up with him, River snaps, “But you could have, you idiot -”

 

He stops mid-stride and turns to face her. River almost stumbles right into him, finding her balance just in time. He’s still far too close and she can feel the heat radiating off him as he peers down at her. She swallows, glancing up, and their eyes meet. “I’ve never left you before. Not about to start now.”

 

Her breath catches and she swallows, managing a faint smile. “How… human and disgusting of you.”

 

He huffs and his eyes look soft with amusement when he glances over his shoulder. His lips thin as he purses them, brows lifting. “I think they’re starting to realize they’ve been duped.”

 

She looks too, spotting the Ariden gathered together, talking angrily amongst themselves and shaking their weapons at each other. She grins. “Run?”

 

The Doctor slips his hand into hers. “Run.”

 

-

 

When the TARDIS starts to dematerialize after River and the Doctor leave, Clara panics. Maybe she and the curmudgeonly ship have been getting along lately but she’s hardly eager to be spirited away in the bloody thing without a pilot.

 

“No, stop it!” She groans, bracing herself against the console. “What are you doing? You’ve just left River, you know. Your favorite! Ringing any bells?” She slaps a hand against a button on the console and swears under her breath. “Go back right now or I swear I’ll -”

 

“What? Send her to her room?”

 

That feminine Scottish lilt sends a chill up her spine and Clara recoils, stumbling in her high-heeled boots as she whirls around. Missy stands by the doors like she’s just sauntered in despite the TARDIS hovering in space. She smiles at Clara, hand on her hip. She’s wearing her typical uniform of Edwardian shades of plum, her lips red and her hair swept up in its usual severe twist. In her hand is a pointy stick.

 

Clara trembles. “Stay away from me.” She squares her shoulders and juts out her chin. “Actually, get the hell off this ship before I have her chuck you out into a black hole.”

 

Smile dropping from her face, Missy affects a little pout and saunters forward a step, undeterred by the threat. Of course. Clara glances around the control room but Jenny had gone to find Vastra and Jack is still with Bruce. She’s alone with a murdering psychopath. Again.

 

“Don’t be cross, poppet. Here, I brought you a present.” Missy holds out the pointy stick, dangling it in front of Clara’s face until she scowls and snatches it from her. Missy looks pleased. “There, we’ve kissed and made up. All better?”

 

Clara gapes at her. “No,” she snaps. “Not all better.” She’d actually felt hurt when Missy betrayed her on Skaro but looking at her now, it seems a little silly – like befriending a snake and then holding a grudge when it inevitably bites you, doing only what comes naturally to it. She swallows and protests half-heartedly, “You tried to get the Doctor to kill me.”

 

“Course I did, darling.” Missy purses her lips, looking remarkably girlish for a centuries old Time Lady. Clara tries desperately not to feel amused. “It’s how I court.”

 

Clara stares at her. “What? No, hang on -” She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Don’t care. What are you doing here? Did you do this?” She gestures to the AWOL ship around them. “Where’s the Doctor?”

 

Missy rolls her eyes, twirling away from her to tiptoe around the console like a deranged ballerina. “I’ve just come from the Eyebrows and the Hair. They’re fine.” She pauses, shrugging. “Wee bit mortally wounded, but fine.”

 

Feeling her heart climb into her throat, Clara rasps, “Mortally wounded? What did you _do_?”

 

“Nothing!” Missy stops twirling with a huff. “Why do you assume it was me?”

 

Clara clenches her jaw against an incredulous reply and tightens her grip on the stick in her hand, contemplating using it on the infuriating woman across the room. “Wasn’t it?”

 

“Not this time, pet.”

 

Clara sighs but before she can retort, the monitor above the console flashes, catching her attention. She stares at the words blinking back at her on the screen and tries to make sense of them. Even Missy risks venturing closer to have a look.

 

_Here comes the bride_

_Cymbeline_

_35, 28, 35_

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

Missy smiles enigmatically, humming to herself.

 

“What?” Clara frowns, nudging her. “What is it?”

 

“I was the best man at the Doctor’s last wedding. Well, the last one that counted, anyway.” She glides to the console, skirts dancing around her ankles, and Clara follows helplessly, curious but still not quite ready to relinquish her pointy stick. She watches Missy input coordinates. “It’ll be a nice change to be matron of honor. Even if it is to the mixed breed.”

 

Clara frowns. “Wedding? What -”

 

“Come along, sweet.” Missy latches onto her arm and Clara is too startled to protest, allowing the madwoman to usher her toward the doors. “You can help me pick out the bouquet – I’m thinking belladonna!”

 

-

 

It’s then, racing through the forest as fast as their legs will carry them, that River allows herself to admit just how much of a gaping hole has been left in her life without this. Of course, there was plenty of running in the years without him by her side but she never wanted to admit how incomplete it was without his hand to hold, without him to glance at with gleeful triumph. Leaves smack their faces and branches whip at their legs and backs as they run, stumbling over tree roots, but they never let go of each other.

 

“Where the bloody hell is Missy?” The Doctor shouts. “How long does it take to -”

 

He trails off and River glances at him sharply. “Missy? She left us! And I thought you said it was the HADS -”

 

He squeezes her fingers and she stops talking, frowning.

 

“Doctor?”

 

“Shh, shut it.” He waves his free hand at her, brow furrowed. “Listen. Hear that?”

 

River slows to a stop with him and they stand in the middle of the forest, scarcely breathing as they wait. Her lungs burn and her ribs ache but she stays absolutely still, listening. There. That wonderful, familiar wheeze of the TARDIS materializing. She laughs, watching it appear through the trees in the distance, and they’re running again. She keeps her eyes on the beautiful blue doors, watching them get closer and closer until the Doctor lifts his free hand and snaps.

 

They stumble inside, slamming the doors shut behind them.

 

At the console with Clara, Missy crosses her arms over her chest and regards them smugly. “Miss me?” She tilts her head, smiling. “Miss Missy? Ooh, I like that.”

 

“Couldn’t have parked a little closer?” The Doctor grouses, but it’s half-hearted at best. They’re still catching their breath, leaning against the railing and panting. River finally lets go of his hand but as their fingers slip away, their eyes meet. She feels her lips beginning to curl into a smile and it must be contagious because then the Doctor is grinning too and before she knows it they’re howling with laughter, hanging onto to each other breathlessly.

 

“Did you see his face when I lifted you?” River asks, clutching her side. “I thought he was going to stab me again.”

 

Tears gathering in his eyes, the Doctor grips her to him and brushes a tender hand over her hair, smiling widely. “My clever girl, that was genius.”

 

Laughter still bubbling in her throat but manageable now, River leans into his touch with a soft grin. “Not still angry about being a damsel?”

 

“Hard to be angry with a knight like you,” he mutters, and she draws in a breath, realizing all at once how very close they are. His hands must have settled on her waist at some point because they’re there now, fingers curled over her hips like they belong. He’s holding her. Her eyes widen. Noticing her own hands resting on his shoulders, she moves one of them slowly to his cheek, brushing away flakes of her dried blood. The Doctor breathes out quietly, eyes dropping to her mouth. His gaze warms and River feels corresponding heat bloom in her stomach. His breath brushes her cheek, then her lips, and River shuts her eyes, swallowing. She leans in, trembling with the anticipation of kissing her husband again.

 

And then his warm breath is gone and his hands fall from her hips. She opens her eyes, cold and confused. The Doctor turns abruptly away, clearing his throat. “Well, as last adventures go, that was a memorable one.”

 

She stares after him, watching him approach the console and usher a petulant Missy out of the way. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You, of course,” he says, but he isn’t looking at her. He’s typing away, glancing up at the monitor occasionally, seemingly unaffected by what just happened between them. “Your help was invaluable, River. Thank you.”

 

“But… we haven’t gone to Gallifrey yet.”

 

“We know where it is,” he says flippantly. “Don’t need you now. Besides, you probably want to get back to your life with Bruce and all that humany rot. Surely he’s awake by now.”

 

Too wounded to even notice he’d said Bruce’s name correctly for once, River walks slowly toward the console. Every step feels like a heavy weight is around her ankles, slowing her progress. She remembers her Doctor wishing aloud that he could take her to Gallifrey, insisting the fun he would have showing her off, that he’d marry her all over again beneath the silver trees. This one found Gallifrey and doesn’t even want her to stick around to see it. Her eyes sting with fury but she blinks quickly, squaring her jaw. “What happened to ‘ _the only one I want standing beside me is you?_ ’ Why are you doing this?”

 

He finally looks up as she approaches. “Doing what? Letting you go home?”

 

“This is my home, you idiot,” she snaps.

 

He softens. “River -”

 

“No.”

 

He raises a brow at her. “No?”

 

“ _No_.” River ignores the lump in her throat, the despair and fury tangled heavy and sinking in her stomach, like a rock. She shoves at his chest, gritting her teeth. “You can’t say the things you do and look at me the way you do – you can’t give me hope and then take it away. That is cruel even for you.”

 

“I’m cruel?” He stares at her incredulously. “You’re the one who -” He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, gentler. “River, I’m trying to let you go gracefully.”

 

“You’re always letting me go.” She blinks away tears and shoves at him again, furious when he doesn’t even doesn’t even move. “And I’m sick of going. This is home. And I meant what I said back there, you may be a cruel idiot but you’re _my_ cruel idiot. We’re married, for better or worse, and you can’t just toss me aside because this regeneration doesn’t like to _cuddle_!”

 

Like a light being switched, the Doctor’s entire demeanor changes. His brow unfurrows and smoothes. His eyebrows lower and his eyes light up, the scowl disappearing entirely. A smile grows and stretches slowly across his face and maybe he isn’t her young Doctor any more but River still thinks he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Glad to hear it, my heart.”

 

River starts, gaping at him. “I – what?”

 

Leaning against the console, Clara muffles a giggles in her hand. Missy inspects her nails, looking bored, but even her lips are curling into a traitorous smile.

 

“Hey Doc?” They all turn to watch as Jack trails down the stairs, his hair rumpled and his body wrapped in nothing but a sheet. “How long did you want me to keep him distracted because he’s not into restraints and I think the tea is wearing off -”

 

He stops abruptly at the sight of River and they stare at each other in silence – guilty on Jack’s part and absolutely stunned on hers. Nothing at all is making any sense and she wonders for a moment if Vastra had somehow slipped her a soporific as well. A million questions are on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t get a chance to voice even one before she hears the shuffle of feet behind Jack. Bruce emerges from the corridor, half dressed and blushing. He waves sheepishly at River.

 

Her mouth drops open.

 

Still looking very pleased with himself, the Doctor says, “That was long enough. Thank you, Jack.”

 

Winking at Bruce, Jack shrugs. “My pleasure.”

 

River stares, overcome with a sudden memory of her conversation with Jack in the med bay earlier – _“I owed him a favor so here I am.”_ She rounds on the Doctor, amazed at the steadiness of her voice as she asks, “You had Jack seduce Bruce as a _favor_?”

 

He purses his lips, looking bizarrely like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, don’t look so self-righteous. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you paid him to snog me when you were in University. I almost regenerated!”

 

She should be angry, she knows. She should slap him and walk out and he would absolutely deserve it. But River has spent the last day certain her husband didn’t want her and faced with the knowledge that it isn’t true at all, she finds herself swallowing back tears and saying, “I thought you were sending me away.”

 

“And I thought you knew me, River Song.” He raises a brow at her but his tone is gentler than she’s ever heard this gruff Scottish voice. It only succeeds in making the lump in her throat harder to swallow. “I’m entirely too selfish when it comes to you.”

 

Taking a step toward him and watching the Doctor do the same, she tries to explain. “I just wanted to – I don’t know, punish you, I suppose. Stupid. But you didn’t even care and I thought -” She glances up, breathing out when she finds him watching her fondly. “I thought this you didn’t love me.”

 

“Did dying turn you into an idiot?” He scoffs, taking another step and now she can feel the heat of him, catch the faintest hint of his scent and the blood still staining his coat. “You’re my wife, River. I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.”

 

“You -” She glances around the console room, seeing Jack still sidled up to Bruce, Clara smirking at them, and Vastra and Jenny holding hands, watching them like proud but exasperated parents. “You made it up. You made up the entire thing – Gallifrey, everything. Trying to lure me back with guns and running and a bloody scavenger hunt. You were using Vastra and Jack to distract Bruce.” She breathes in as another realization occurs to her. “You used your little spy Clara to make sure I still loved you.”

 

The Doctor looks smug, close enough now to settle his hands on her hips. He grips them firmly, drawing her close, his nose brushing hers. “Had to be sure, didn’t I?”

 

“And Missy? What did you call her for?”

 

His grin fades at that and he frowns, gaze skittering reluctantly away. “You were dying. Again.” He swallows. “I needed my friend.”

 

“I had to slap him twice, poor love.” Missy waves a hand at him, looking proud of herself. “Was making a right spectacle of himself – even after I told him we could just let you die and find another one. He’s a sap for you, poppet.”

 

The Doctor rolls his eyes.

 

“You’re a manipulative bastard,” River whispers hoarsely, and slaps him.

 

She doesn’t let him stumble away from her, gripping the collar of his coat. He sways into her, ignoring his red, stinging cheek as he rumbles, “And you fell for it so easily, River. How could you ever believe -”

 

“Shut up.” She pulls him down to her roughly and their lips meet in an eager kiss that has been far too long in the making. It isn’t the sweet, giddy kiss of his previous regeneration but a harsh clash of tongues and teeth that suits River just fine. She lets go of his lapel to grip his hair in her hands, fisting gray curls and pressing herself as close as she can manage without actually climbing him. She’ll save that for later. The Doctor groans against her mouth and she shudders, tasting too much sugar on his tongue.

 

He breaks away from her with a gasp, burying his face against her throat and leaving a trail of biting kisses there. Preoccupied with carding her fingers through his hair and keeping her weak knees from giving out beneath her, it takes River a moment to realize he’s muttering to her, promising her gruffly that they’ll get married again, a real Gallifreyan ceremony.

 

“Under the silver trees. They’ll match my hair.” When she agrees with laughter in her voice and tears in her eyes, he pulls back to cup her face in his hands. “There’s a dress in our bedroom.”

 

“What?” She laughs. “How -”

 

He raises a brow at her, smirking. “My driving isn’t that terrible, dear.” He replies to her scoff with a glare. “Once I knew we were actually going to find Gallifrey, I knew the first thing I wanted to do was marry you there. Promised you ages ago, didn’t I?”

 

“You did.” She smiles, stroking his jaw. “You landed us wrong on purpose?”

 

“They needed the TARDIS to order your dress in Paris.” He lets go of her long enough to dig around in his jacket pocket, producing his psychic paper and flipping it open. “Sent these from our cell.”

 

River stares at the message scrawled across the paper, strangely touched. “You remembered my measurements.” Another thought occurs to her and she shakes her head, struggling against the urge to slap him again. “No, stop distracting me, you grumpy sod – I was stabbed and poisoned so you could have a dress made!”

 

“Oi!” The Doctor snaps the paper shut and stuffs it into his pocket, scowling. “You being stabbed and poisoned wasn’t part of the plan. Hardly my fault you’re a walking death wish.”

 

Leaning against Jack at the top of the stairs, Bruce says, “I’m getting whiplash. Are they always like this?”

 

Jack grins, resting his chin atop Bruce’s head. “Oh yeah.”

 

“Shut it.” River glares. “I’m still angry with you.”

 

Jack blows her a kiss.

 

The Doctor grumbles under his breath and River turns her irate gaze on him, fully aware that she visibly softens at the sight of him. “And you – you’ve lied and manipulated me since the moment you stepped out of your bloody ship and _you will pay.”_

Missy glances up from her inspection of the TARDIS controls, brightening. “I’ll help.”

 

“Looking forward to it,” the Doctor says, and kisses his wife.

 

River laughs, winding her arms around his neck as his mouth moves hot and demanding against her own. He begins to walk her backwards but she doesn’t stumble, following his lead until her back hits the console. He only stops kissing her when they bump into Missy, who stubbornly refuses to move.

 

“Are you quite through?” She asks, arms crossed over her chest and heeled boot tapping idly against the floor. “It’s demoralizing, honestly.”

 

“Get used to it,” the Doctor snaps, no real bite in his voice. He’s still smiling. “I’ve got ages of snogging to make up for.”

 

“More than snogging, I hope,” River murmurs, winking at her. “We’ll need a second honeymoon. Do the honors?”

 

Missy eyes them primly, blue gaze glittering and red lips quirked into a slightly manic grin. “Homeward, lovebirds?”

 

Tucked against the Doctor’s side, River feels the warm gazes of their friends at their backs but she watches her husband look at his oldest friend and smile. His fingers dig into River’s hip and his other hand reaches for the lever Missy taps with a red nail. He turns his head and his lips brush her temple. River feels him grin into her hair and for the first time in ten years, she is right where she belongs.

 

“Homeward.”


End file.
